Fork in the Road

Two roads diverged in a yellow wood,
And sorry I could not travel both
And being one traveler, long I stood
And looked down one as far as I could
To where it bent in the undergrowth;
Then took the other, as just as fair,
And having perhaps the better claim,
Because it was grassy and 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.

On the first morning that David and I were in New Hampshire, we woke up super early (before the parents were up, it was like 6:30am!) We quickly dressed and set out for a walk in the crisp cool morning air. How gorgeous it was! It was really my first impression of New England. I wasn't in a plane or a car, and I could walk and look at different things slowly and closely. We ended up at a Dunkin Donuts to get some coffee, and then continued on our walk. We got to look at all the different houses and talked about what it would have been like to live back then. We talked about the foliage and the changing leaves, what it would be like to have that all year round. We walked on forever! All of a sudden we came to a fork in the road...we were on a dirt path and you could clearly take one path or another. The leaves were sprayed all over the ground, and leaves were slowly falling from the trees.

I stopped in mid sentence.

Dave noticed, and squeezed my hand a little.

I looked at him and said, "what does that remind you of?"

Without missing a beat, he said, "Robert Frosts poem"

Ok, so for the both of us to look at one thing and see think the exact same thing, you know it has to depict the poem pretty well.

I love this poem.

I could go on forever analyzing it, it's a lot deeper than most people look into.

Come to find out, Robert Frost was from New England, and lived in New Hampshire for much of his life. Wonder if he was looking at the same thing we were? :) Kind of fun to think about, if only I could come up with a poem like that from looking at a fork in the road!