5 pm Boxing day, Welcombe
In the midwinter gloaming the darkening sky and low winter sun robbed the landscape of colour. If only I had gone for a walk- the silence in the lanes would have been exquisite. The warmth of a lit window in a family home in sharp, perfect contrast to the bleak winter blue.
I thought of Frost’s famous poem as I took this photo:
Whose woods these are I think I know.
His house is in the village, though
He will not see me stopping here
To watch his woods fill up with snow. My little horse must think it queer
To stop without a farmhouse near
Between the woods and frozen lake
The darkest evening of the year. He gives his harness bells a shake
To ask if there’s some mistake.
The only other sound’s the sweep
Of easy wind and downy flake. The woods are lovely, dark and deep,
But I have promises to keep,
And miles to go before I sleep,
And miles to go before I sleep.