A Strange and Beautiful Trail

On this warm and sunny April morning I found myself at the beginning of a strange and beautiful trail; a straight and narrow farm road bordered on one side by an ancient split rail fence covered in wild grape vine yet not in bud and bramble bushes scattered along its edge. Coming from a distance the chirping of the birds beckoned me to look onward to where the path was leading. This old, forgotten road seemed infinite but in the far distance I could see that this very narrow trail came to an end. The trail had turned into a dark, mysterious, secluded, wood so alluringly beautiful that I continued in a quickened pace joining my pet in the race to the wood. And then I suddenly had a deja vue; I remembered a poem I once heard recited by a son to his departed father. The poem was by Robert Frost called “Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening” and the son that I had heard recite the poem was Justin Trudeau giving the most beautiful loving acclamation a son could ever give to his dad. During that very sad time in our Canadian history, Justin’s words had made my heart sink in even more. Justin’s love for his father was very evident but especially was how he recited his beautifully written and extraordinary touching farewell to his dad. From that moment on I was never to forget his eulogy and the lovely poem that our Prime Minister Trudeau had once loved and now his son shared with the country and with me. And so I thought that if by chance you never heard this poem; then now would be the time and I shall share with you another day, my venture in the wood. ~ANNABELLE~

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.

Robert Frost