I wrote this poem some time ago, but it works now too, except for the line about summer! I took this snowy picture two days ago and the snow is still falling and it’s beautiful beyond words.

I could write a poem about stopping by the woods on a snowy evening, but
Someone much wiser and more profound than I has already written a poem beginning with
that line and
After I read that I feel that I can never write so sparse and rich so why should I try,
But I have words in me that Frost never did, so that gives me permission to try to push out
Words, pat them into line, riffle through, discard or choose the precise ones to show, not tell,
The mood and texture of the vignette I have in mind
And even though it’s not about horse or downy flake (I drive a car, it’s high summer, and I don’t Collect Currier & Ives prints) my soul holds
Pictures of thin spaces, moments, sparkles, glistenings, that would be fun to take
out of storage, unfold,
Hold up to the light, adjust, unwrinkle, because, even though out of sight, they shape me,
and maybe
They could nudge someone and set the compass for a friend’s reference point of what is
Good and beautiful and true since stable compasses are scarce these days and we need them
Even though we don’t say it, however insightful we are and however experienced
because we are all
Mostly shuffling our way toward home, knowing we’re not there yet and it might be
Awhile—probably miles to go before we sleep—but we’ll get there someday and meanwhile
we hold
Each other’s hands to find the path and share the light we see because beauty must be shared, not Hoarded, which has to be why Frost gave us his snapshot of his woods and horse.

My book talks about another kind of walk. It’s a voice to remind you that you’re never actually alone, wherever you’re walking. You can buy it here!