Thoughts on revisiting old stomping grounds.
Walking in Woods on a Cold, Brisk Morning
[stolen from Robert Frost]
What woods these are I think I know –
I used to run them long ago
when I was young and had no fear
of roaring rain or muffled snow.
But now I find these woods are queer
with nothing that’s familiar near
between my house and power line
on the coldest morning of the year.
I give my head a little shake;
I know there must be some mistake:
there is no way that I am lost;
I ran these woods when not awake.
The woods are lovely, dark, and deep,
and this hill is pretty steep;
I wish that I had brought a jeep
to get me home so I can sleep.