The Road Not Taken

The Road Not Taken

by Robert Frost




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 tother, as just as fair,


And having perhaps the better claim,


Because it was grassy ans 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.

Delightfully Boring

This morning I awoke to the granite colored sky and asked myself if perhaps this day would actually be a “fall” day, crisp and cool, with impending threats of real weather. And then only hours later, maybe two, I glanced out the window and was astounded by the view, for we had surpassed autumnal and crashed right into a winter squall, blowing in every direction, pelting the earth with fuzzy white flakes in a swirling orchestration of a wintry blast. It subsided in less than an hour and left us with a threadbare blanket of white; light enough to show sprigs of grass, just solid enough to inform us that the splendor of winter is upon us. I have to say, and this will make some of you roll your eyes, that I look to the white stuff with a huge sense of relief. It is finally here and I am glad, and not because I especially relish the cold, but because it is November in Colorado and snow is what is supposed to happen. It is a flash of normal when our days have been filled with startling. When nothing is happening as we had expected it is nice to know that some things are a constant – the sun coming up, the chill of the wind, the snow bursting onto the scene, just ahead of winter, the need to wear boots and mufflers – it is all predictable and somehow settling. There is peace in the common, hope in the repetition of the every day, sense in the redundant, and I am thankful that for this moment I am part of something so very ordinary.

~Words of The Wise~

A truly good book teaches me better than to read it. I must soon lay it down, and commence living on its hint. What I began by reading, I must finish by acting.



Henry David Thoreau

Dark Night

In the midst of great sadness we will find the truth of our soul, the thing that for us holds it all together. For in those moments when there are no answers, we must reach for that something that offers equilibrium if not solace. It does not erase the sadness, nor does it correct the wrong, it simply reminds us that there will be a way through the darkness, if no light shines at the end of the tunnel, it serves as the blind man's cane, leading the way, one tap at a time, one foot in front of the other. In times like these we must grasp that bit of substance that we have known to be there in our most desperate times, that particle of grace that has never failed. When I close my hands around the last thing I can hope to hang on to I find an old friend, a constant, a heartbeat that I hear, even when I sleep. It is a loving God, whose voice I know in my frailest moments, whose strength I can feel in a gale force wind – a loving God who reminds me that he was there when the tragedy struck and he will still be present when the clouds begin to break because he walks with his arms around me as I follow the tapping, one foot in front of the other, coaxing me towards the whisper of light at end of a very long road. May you know his presence, Tom as you wander through this mist.

The Price of Liberty

I just want to say a few words about the election and how glad I am that it will be over at end of day. This has undoubtedly been the longest election season in the history of democracies. The signs along the road have been up for so long I have begun to think of them as part of the landscape. I fear when they are taken down, I will not be able to find my way home. It is almost as though I have become friends with the people listed on the signs, like they are the town greeters, sending me on my way with a voter's blessing. “Blessed art thou who hast cast your vote. May your way be paved with the riches of the republic and your future be ripe with constitutional amendments.” We have endured six solid months of name calling and protruding tongues, reminiscent of the ugly stepsisters in Cinderella, except there was no innocent child being mistreated; everyone had huge feet and a bitter heart and was generally undeserving of the dance with the handsome prince. So to all of the candidates I offer this word of blessing. “Blessed art thou who hast born false witness in the face of this company. May your way be paved with the dissent you have sown and may you reap the bounty of your loathsome behavior.”

Close Your Eyes and Jump

When I was a little girl being brave meant being willing to jump into a big hole without knowing what was at the bottom, or riding a two wheeler with my hands in the air and my feet on the handle bars; in short, I ran with a crowd who confused bravery with stupidity. I am a grown-up now, or at least it says so on my tax return, and I realize that being brave has nothing to do with deliberately putting oneself in danger. It isn't about proving to the people around me that I am willing to risk my life for the right of passage. Being brave is well more than walking up to the house where the lady with too many cats lives and ringing the bell. Being brave is choosing to do the right thing when no one does it with you. It is standing for the truth when lies are so much more comfortable. It is saying no when yes will bring you accolades, and saying yes when no will keep your name out of the fray. Being brave is telling the people you love that you screwed up and you're sorry, or that they screwed up but you love them anyway. It is knowing that you are not always there to make friends, sometimes you are there to make a difference, even if it makes enemies. In short being brave is living like you matter. Because you do.

Go for the Gold

Finally one of those leaves swirling, clouds hanging, get out the sweaters, make the soup, put on socks with your shoes, the mums are blooming, kind of fall days. It is time to gather the pumpkins and gourds, stack them in baskets and settle them on the hearth. Cinnamon is the spice of the day with nutmeg following close behind. Boots are appropriate for walks through the streets ankle deep in fallen foliage with gloves in your pocket and a scarf wrapped twice, that your Aunt Ida made when she was on her cruise to Mexico. Don't miss a whisper of this day, for it is fleeting, soon to be swept up in the frigid grasp of the impending winter. But for now it is coffee on the deck with a blanket over your knees while a snapping log is consumed in the heat of a smoky fire. It is fall and there is the sensation of coziness in the air. Throw an extra quilt on the posturepedic and grab the thickest book you can find. Autumn is upon us and we are celebrating.