Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening
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.
This poem has long been a touchstone for my feelings about life, nature, resposibility and a host of other things more difficult to quantify. Never has that been more true than in this past week.
Sunday before last (15 November) as I staggered blearily into the bathroom upon rising, I stumbled over an Alien asleep on the floor. Startled, it jumped up and blasted me with a flame thrower. Yes, my friends, and foes, I was having a heart attack, what we call an infarct here in Estonia.
My wonderful friend Karen came immediately and removed me to our local hospital. A few short hours later I was wrapped up like a recalcitrant chysalis and bundled into an ambulance for the trip to Tallinn's North Estonia Regional Health Centre, as modern and up to date a medical facility as anyone could wish for.
I am now home with a vast plethora of new meds with silly sounding names, under strict orders to SLOW DOWN and make sure I get my blood pressure checked REGULARLY.
I plan to accede to most of the above and am plotting the most gruesome little tale of Alien abduction my fevered little brain cells can devise.
I thank you for your attention.