I have yet to see a white Christmas on Dec. 25: it didn’t start snowing at my parents’ home in Georgia until the day after, but that’s close enough. And it snowed little more than an inch, but it was a wet, fluffy, beautiful snow that turned the woods into a wonderland.

I find it fascinating to see how a little snow can turn bare branches into a work or art, or transform the hard leaves of a young magnolia into fluffy white flowers.

I couldn’t get a decent picture, but the cardinals and yellow finches were out in force. In all the world of nature, I find few things prettier than a redbird in the snow with his feathers fluffed against the cold.

Walking by the woods’ edge reminded me, of course, of Robert Frost’s well-known poem, a long-time favorite:

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 sounds 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.


Many of us will have lots of travel miles yet to go this Christmas season, and all of us have miles to go in this thing we call life. May the miles you travel be both meaningful and safe — and may they make a positive difference to others, before you lie down to sleep.

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