I love to walk outside in the winter and don't do it nearly enough. Get all bundled up in your coats and hats and mittens, and then breathe in the cold, crisp air. Ahhhh. Maybe we'll sing some Christmas carols as we walk, too.
I suppose I should figure out what we'll eat for dinner after our winter walk. It might be a Paleo-cheat night at Pizza Hut. Lydia has another Book-It gift certificate.
Here's a poem from Robert Frost about a winter wood, from the Poetry Foundation's site:
Robert Frost
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.
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