Miles to Go

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 (1874-1963)

Monday Morning Humor

Click to view:
Monday Morning Humor

I'd Rather

I would not paint--a picture--
I'd rather be the One
Its bright impossibility
To dwell--delicious--on--
And wonder how the fingers feel
Whose rare--celestial--stir--
Evokes so sweet a Torment--
Such sumptuous--Despair--

I would not talk, like Cornets--
I'd rather be the One
Raised softly to the Ceilings--
And out, and easy on--
Through Villages of Ether--
Myself endued Balloon
By but a lip of Metal--
The pier to my Pontoon--

Nor would I be a Poet--
Its finer--own the Ear--
Enamored--impotent--content--
The License to revere,
A privilege so awful
What would the Dower be,
Had I the Art to stun myself
With Bolts of Melody!

Emily Dickinson (1830-1886)

Summer Meyer Family Pics

With all the configurations of pictures we took you'd think it was a wedding, but it was just the Fourth of July!

Here's the whole fam - well, sans Dale :-(
Siblings - with Mom then on their own: Grandkids - with Grandma, then on their own:
And my kids:

Leap Before You Look

The sense of danger must not disappear:
The way is certainly both short and steep,
However gradual it looks from here;
Look if you like, but you will have to leap.

Tough-minded men get mushy in their sleep
And break the by-laws any fool can keep;
It is not the convention but the fear
That has a tendency to disappear.

The worried efforts of the busy heap,
The dirt, the imprecision, and the beer
Produce a few samrt wisecracke every year;
Laugh if you can, but you will have to leap.

The clothes that are considered right to wear
Will not be either sensible or cheap,
So long as we consent to live like sheep
And never mention those who disappear.

Much can be said for social savior-faire,
Bu to rejoice when no one else is there
Is even harder than it is to weep;
No one is watching, but you have to leap.

A solitude ten thousand fathoms deep
Sustains the bed on which we lie, my dear:
Although I love you, you will have to leap;
Our dream of safety has to disappear.

W. H. Auden (1907-1973)