Two Roads Diverged in a Yellow Wood

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.

But if you look closer, there are spring things happening.

Berries? Already? Yup.
And in the centre of the bottom row: Jack-in-the-Pulpit

Next year, I'll try to get there early enough to snap some fiddleheads (both literally and figuratively). But for now I shall leave you with The Road not Taken.

Two roads diverged in a yellow wood
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.

Unlike Robert Frost, we do get to come back to these woods - our woods - "another day,"  so no sad sighs from us.