It dropped down to 11 degrees here last night, which is unseasonably cold. This time of year, we’re usually hovering around 60 degrees. We still have snow sticking around from a couple days ago. Even though this is still technically fall, it sure feels like winter.
Winter is prime writing time for me. Nothing inspires me more than reading a good poem by a roaring fire. In honor of our early on-set of frigid temps, I’m sharing a poem by one of my favorite poets, Robert Frost. Please enjoy.
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 is 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. Thank you for reading Ozarks Maven! If you’ve enjoyed my little seeds of wisdom and joy, please subscribe to Ozarks Maven, Like Ozarks Maven on Facebook, or follow me on Twitter @OzarksMaven.
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