It’s begun snowing in New York on this eve of 2010. Walking down the street, the air is crisp and the lights in the brownstones are giving off a luxurious and golden glow. The park beyond is already cast in pure whites and deep black.
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.
The woods are lovely, dark and deep.
But I have promises to keep…
Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening
Robert Frost (1923)