Stopping by the creek on a Saturday Morning
These woods are ours, we know them well
Long in the suburbs we have dwelled,
also
No one will see us stopping here to hunt
for stones where tribes once dwelled.
Mabel knows this is our norm to escape from
the suburban swarm,
Between the Potomac and Accotink Creek,
on any given Saturday morn.
She snorts and gives her head a shake
She knows that there is no mistake.
The only other sound’s the stream and rustling
leaves and referees.
These woods are sanctuary from the
swarm, but I have promises to keep
And every day’s another step.
One step at a time. One step at a time.
***
I can still recite "Stopping By The Woods On A Snowy Evening," by Robert Frost from memory. My second grade teacher, Mrs.Brown, had everybody in our class recite it, and it has stuck with me through all these years. As I walk with Mabel in the woods, I often repeat it from memory.
I can still recite "Stopping By The Woods On A Snowy Evening," by Robert Frost from memory. My second grade teacher, Mrs.Brown, had everybody in our class recite it, and it has stuck with me through all these years. As I walk with Mabel in the woods, I often repeat it from memory.
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