It's almost Spring, right??
I'm sitting here by the window in my house in Ashville, North Carolina looking at the mountains in the distance. Covered in white. Sleety snow is blowing around and clinging to all the trees in my yard. And just a few days ago, it was 70 degrees. I was going to go hiking in the woods today but those plans have changed, and I am now stuck here at home on my day off, looking at the sleety snow fall. Bored.
So in my boredom, I found some poetry that speaks to me. So pour a hot cup of tea, and pretend it's cold (wherever you are) and commiserate with me. Let's read along...
Woods in Winter
by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
When winter winds are piercing chill,
And through the hawthorn blows the gale,
With solemn feet I tread the hill,
That overbrows the lonely vale.
O'er the bare upland, and away
Through the long reach of desert woods,
The embracing sunbeams chastely play,
And gladden these deep solitudes.
Where, twisted round the barren oak,
The summer vine in beauty clung,
And summer winds the stillness broke,
The crystal icicle is hung.
Where, from their frozen urns, mute springs
Pour out the river's gradual tide,
Shrilly the skater's iron rings,
And voices fill the woodland side.
Alas! how changed from the fair scene,
When birds sang out their mellow lay,
And winds were soft, and woods were green,
And the song ceased not with the day!
But still wild music is abroad,
Pale, desert woods! within your crowd;
And gathering winds, in hoarse accord,
Amid the vocal reeds pipe loud.
Chill airs and wintry winds! my ear
Has grown familiar with your song;
I hear it in the opening year,
I listen, and it cheers me long.
