Path

Don't you wish sometimes that you could have a second or third life - lives in parallel, I mean, not after death: so that you could follow other paths and see how they would have turned out, without giving up the life you have.

Robert Frost's poem has been going round in my head this week, in snatches and bits, as I can never remember all of it at once. So I went out this morning looking for a divergence, a blip divergence, but all the garden could offer in the way of a crossroads or a fork was this stripe of light, which will have to serve.

It's frustrating, when the world won't bend itself to your will....and also, in a minor and trivial way, frustrating when Outdoors seems to lack the symbolism you seek to express your state of mind and heart.

The Road Not Taken.

TWO roads diverged in a yellow wood,
And sorry I could not travel both
And be one traveler, long I stood
And looked down one as far as I could
To where it bent in the undergrowth;

Then took the other, as just as fair,
And having perhaps the better claim,
Because it was grassy and wanted wear;
Though as for that the passing there
Had worn them really about the same,

And both that morning equally lay
In leaves no step had trodden black.
Oh, I kept the first for another day!
Yet knowing how way leads on to way,
I doubted if I should ever come back.

I shall be telling this with a sigh
Somewhere ages and ages hence:
Two roads diverged in a wood, and I -
I took the one less traveled by,
And that has made all the difference.