Snowy Christmas Evenings

Merry Christmas! Judging by my Christmas evening, I could argue that I have a pretty perfect life. It’s 7:45 p.m. and I’m sitting on the couch watching It’s a Wonderful Life with (some of) my family, relaxing, drinking my beloved whiskey eggnog (courtesy of my wonderful father), and making plans with my Kansas City friends to catch up on life. To top things off, it’s sort of a White Christmas.

I happen to love poetry. I suppose it’s the literature-loving/romantic side of me, but I think that, aside from music, it’s one of the most beautiful things ever. I fell in love with this poem because of a man named Jim. I worked with Jim one year at Watkins Mill, dressing up and giving tours of an old mill and a civil war home. He was an amazing man – about sixty-five and sharp as can be. He loved nature, hard work, beauty, tools, history, and talking about good literature. He was an atheist, and something inside of him always tugged at my heart because he saw all of these things – nature, beauty etc. but was always searching inside for more, deeper beauty, or more meaning to these things. He’s one of a kind, and someone that I’ll never forget. This was his poem.

“Stopping By Woods on a Snowy Evening”

– Robert Frost

.

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.

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