I sat in church today pondering my priorities. They have been skewed this past week. Perhaps they’ve been skewed longer than that. Today I sat and figured ways to put things aright. There need to be daily spaces of time where business concerns are not allowed to encroach upon paying attention to the children. I need to consolidate my leisure rather than grabbing it in snatches. The second method leads to much wasted time. Work should come before play.
Today I turned over the leaf. Every single moment of today was focused on things for the children. Some of them also happened to be things I wanted to do, but mostly it was all for the kids. I even did the full individual mommy attention bedtime. I look back on the day and I know it was right. The priorities were in order. I got lots of important things done. But I am weary.
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
My favorite poem!
My favorite poem!
Wow…that brought me right back to grade eight/nine humanities (english/social studies) class. We had a copy of that poem on a handlettered poster at the front of the class and I tried to memorize it. 🙂
Wow…that brought me right back to grade eight/nine humanities (english/social studies) class. We had a copy of that poem on a handlettered poster at the front of the class and I tried to memorize it. 🙂
I always thought Frost was thinking of suicide in that poem, looking into those lovely woods and imagining just disappearing into them.
Glad you feel better about your priorities. Don’t forget to make time for yourself too – you need it and deserve it.
I always thought Frost was thinking of suicide in that poem, looking into those lovely woods and imagining just disappearing into them.
Glad you feel better about your priorities. Don’t forget to make time for yourself too – you need it and deserve it.
I love this poem too.
It captures the feeling of heaviness and tiredness I feel…
and the longing for rest and release…
with the weary knowledge of “miles to go before I sleep”.
beautiful.
I love this poem too.
It captures the feeling of heaviness and tiredness I feel…
and the longing for rest and release…
with the weary knowledge of “miles to go before I sleep”.
beautiful.
Woods are lovely
That always reminds me of another poem from childhood and school, “The isteners” by Walter De la Mare. I reckon Robert Frost could have been the traveller, finding the house in the woods one day… It’s one of those things that’s stuck in my head forever.
‘Is there anybody there?’ said the Traveller,
Knocking on the moonlit door;
And his horse in the silence champed the grasses
Of the forest’s ferny floor:
And a bird flew up out of the turret,
Above the Traveller’s head
And he smote upon the door again a second time;
‘Is there anybody there?’ he said.
But no one descended to the Traveller;
No head from the leaf-fringed sill
Leaned over and looked into his grey eyes,
Where he stood perplexed and still.
But only a host of phantom listeners
That dwelt in the lone house then
Stood listening in the quiet of the moonlight
To that voice from the world of men:
Stood thronging the faint moonbeams on the dark stair,
That goes down to the empty hall,
Hearkening in an air stirred and shaken
By the lonely Traveller’s call.
And he felt in his heart their strangeness,
Their stillness answering his cry,
While his horse moved, cropping the dark turf,
‘Neath the starred and leafy sky;
For he suddenly smote on the door, even
Louder, and lifted his head:-
‘Tell them I came, and no one answered,
That I kept my word,’ he said.
Never the least stir made the listeners,
Though every word he spake
Fell echoing through the shadowiness of the still house
From the one man left awake:
Ay, they heard his foot upon the stirrup,
And the sound of iron on stone,
And how the silence surged softly backward,
When the plunging hoofs were gone.
Woods are lovely
That always reminds me of another poem from childhood and school, “The isteners” by Walter De la Mare. I reckon Robert Frost could have been the traveller, finding the house in the woods one day… It’s one of those things that’s stuck in my head forever.
‘Is there anybody there?’ said the Traveller,
Knocking on the moonlit door;
And his horse in the silence champed the grasses
Of the forest’s ferny floor:
And a bird flew up out of the turret,
Above the Traveller’s head
And he smote upon the door again a second time;
‘Is there anybody there?’ he said.
But no one descended to the Traveller;
No head from the leaf-fringed sill
Leaned over and looked into his grey eyes,
Where he stood perplexed and still.
But only a host of phantom listeners
That dwelt in the lone house then
Stood listening in the quiet of the moonlight
To that voice from the world of men:
Stood thronging the faint moonbeams on the dark stair,
That goes down to the empty hall,
Hearkening in an air stirred and shaken
By the lonely Traveller’s call.
And he felt in his heart their strangeness,
Their stillness answering his cry,
While his horse moved, cropping the dark turf,
‘Neath the starred and leafy sky;
For he suddenly smote on the door, even
Louder, and lifted his head:-
‘Tell them I came, and no one answered,
That I kept my word,’ he said.
Never the least stir made the listeners,
Though every word he spake
Fell echoing through the shadowiness of the still house
From the one man left awake:
Ay, they heard his foot upon the stirrup,
And the sound of iron on stone,
And how the silence surged softly backward,
When the plunging hoofs were gone.