A Yellow Wood

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a path through the trees

Drove down the driveway this afternoon and into a yellow wood – as yellow as we’ve ever seen it. Fall colors are never the same, year to year. This was a vivid yellow.

Who can come into a yellow wood and not think of Robert Frost or, thereby, New England. Or, for me, also my father who loved both the woods and Robert Frost.

For you, perhaps is the same. So, here’s a moment with Robert Frost from inside a yellow wood, which we offer as a public service.

The Road Not Taken

Two roads diverged in a yellow wood,
And sorry I could not travel both
And be one traveler, 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 step 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 traveled by,
And that has made all the difference.

Robert Frost, 1916

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