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:
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.