Fridays with Frost #4

A Late Walk

When I go up through the mowing field,
The headless aftermath,
Smooth-laid like thatch with the heavy dew,
Half closes the garden path.

And when I come to the garden ground,
The whir of sober birds
Up from the tangle of withered weeds
Is sadder than any words

A tree beside the wall stands bare,
But a leaf that lingered brown,
Disturbed, I doubt not, by my thought,
Comes softly rattling down.

I end not far from my going forth
By picking the faded blue
Of the last remaining aster flower
To carry again to you.

Robert Frost

Gotta love some Frost.

Meanwhile, my CampNaNo novel has reached a whopping 902 words. Okay, yeah, I’m a little behind. Also I’m still working on wrestling that WIP for the Ravellenic Games.

This weekend will be a challenge though, with all of this, plus a 4 hour class at a state park (2 hours away) on Saturday and my son’s 18th birthday party on Sunday.

Happy Knitting/Writing!!


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