Last summer, when I first introduced you to the forest near our home, I called it, "a magical place, which I look forward to exploring in all seasons." Well, I almost missed spring! Steve and I finally went for a walk in the woods today, and it is lush and green.
|Much like the summer pictures, but wetter|
and with plenty of that yellow, of which Robert Frost wrote.
|Berries? Already? Yup.|
And in the centre of the bottom row: Jack-in-the-Pulpit
Two roads diverged in a yellow woodUnlike Robert Frost, we do get to come back to these woods - our woods - "another day," so no sad sighs from us.
And sorry I could not travel both
And be one traveller, long I stood
And looked down one as far as I could
To where it bent in the undergrowth;
Then took the other, as just as fair,
And having perhaps the better claim
Because it was grassy and wanted wear;
Though as for that, the passing there
Had worn them really about the same,
And both that morning equally lay
In leaves no feet had trodden black.
Oh, I kept the first for another day!
Yet knowing how way leads on to way,
I doubted if I should ever come back.
I shall be telling this with a sigh
Somewhere ages and ages hence:
Two roads diverged in a wood, and I --
I took the one less travelled by,
And that has made all the difference.