Back To Basics

Went to Cherry Creek Reservoir for the magic hour today. It was cold. I was reminded of the following poem. Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening by: 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 the 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.

Werd Birds.

I wanted to go out on the ice, but got scared.