Beautiful Fog and Robert Frost

This evening I was going to write about the wonders of "Iron Chef" (The Food Network is having an Iron Chef Marathon... FANTASTIC!) But instead, was inspired by the fog that rolled in and rose between the trees and woods behind our place.

We live on the edge of a forest, and our balcony has a beautiful view of these woods/bog/swamp. Earlier in the day, I threw open the windows, let the sweet breeze blow through, and curled up on the futon next to the window with my current read ("Atonement" by Ian McKewan). While tearing through part II of the book, I glanced out the window. The setting sun was sending streaks of light across the sky, while shadows in the woods were beginning to lengthen. What caught my attention was the swirls of fog, the mists that were steadily rising.

It was beautiful.

It was serene.

And I sat, poised and silent, for what felt like hours - but in reality was only a few minutes - gazing out at this beautiful scene. I kept returning to the poetry of Robert Frost.

Here's on of my favorite poems, I hope you enjoy:

Stopping By Woods On A Snowy Evening

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.

I know that it's not snowy here, but the silence of the fog, the swirls of mist that rose and fell were simply breathtaking. If I could have gone outside and made my way through them (without getting lost...), I would have been out in a heartbeat. I love woods, I love the stillness and silence that surrounds me, I love the tree canopy, the rustle of leaves, and the sound of my breathing. I've always been drawn to this poem, perhaps because of the line, "The only other sound's the sweep Of easy wind and down flake."

Iron Chef will have to wait. Tonight, Robert Frost it is.


I took a few photos, but it was so foggy that you can see the water droples in the atmosphere. Simply beautiful. And serene. (But makes for a difficult photograph).