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.
The first time I read this poem it was way back in Class IX. I still remember the sense of wonder I had felt on the beauty that flowed out of the poetry -I had loved the sound of words...the rythm...the way the poet manages to play with words without breaking the enchantment on nature's beauty.Sitting on the bench by the window and promising to myself that some day I will also walk in the snow and repeat those lines again. I forgot all about this promise even though I came across the poem, especially the last four lines an n number of times after that but then it passed off the thrill I had felt the first time on reading those lines, reducing a bit on each of the occasions.
Back to the present. It was the day before the Christmas Eve and I could hear people all around talking that the snow is delayed and Christmas would not feel the same without the snow. I wondered and wondered what snow had to do with Christmas...because people in Europe would anyways stay in and celebrate silently with their families, unlike India where such a silence as here would have meant death. Since all the malls and shops were closed so I stayed in as well :( And while everyone was in it started to snow. Secretly. Softly. As if God was keeping a secret gift for his children -like the gifts parents keep on their children's bedside on the Christmas Eve....gifts that all children want to believe come from Santa. It snowed and snowed all night, well into the next day.
Christmas day...I went for a walk in the woods nearby. The snow was still falling and for a few seconds when I thought no one was watching...just put up my hands and face to feel the snow glide down my forehead, nose and settle on the collar bone. It was almost dark and the wind had started to blow - it looked as if it were a good idea to return back home. As I turned, a sound caught my attention in the otherwise silent landscape. It was a small bell...the wind was causing it to ring. Someone must have tied it there....don’t know why. Maybe I know. Because all of a sudden the poetry came back to me.....Stopping by the woods one snowy evening....It was as if I was seeing everything from Robert Frost's eyes.
And what followed was stranger...I repeated those lines again and a new meaning filled my being. Here it goes:
I am new to this place, but then I think I know the neighbors –even the one of them owns this property. But then, don’t they belong to God...beyond all ownerships? Even though I pass these woods everyday on way to work yet I am unaware of their beauty because I look and don’t see them. Today I am seeing them but then that makes me wonder that maybe the owner sees me everyday even though I think he cannot see me (because I am not conscious of his constant presence) but then he led me here in the first place. He is the woods the snow, the marks my shoes leave in the fresh snow, he is even me.
The little horse represents the carrier on which we cross the fields of time. It stands for all the worldly connections, be it my job, my friends, my enemies, even me- the mortal brain that often questions the strivings of the heart. The horse – friends, enemies, the “moah” and “maya” the earthly possessions they are calling me back- telling me that this is just a waste of time and I have the worldly duties to attend to, instead of standing there in the snow filled woods on a dark dark evening.
But then at this one moment I just want to be with the nature and her sounds of the wind and flakes. I know after a while I will have to head back home and to the eternal world- to keep the promises I made. Promises to my family, promises to self and promises to life. But then I am sure I will come back to this road – the one that runs between the darkness and snow on the turning where my life ends.
Thanks to the one who tied the bell...
