In Robert Frost’s “Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening”, there is a lone wagon driver who pauses at dusk in his travel to watch snow falling in the woods.
That part I get. To be where beauty abounds, where quiet pervades, where silence is broken by nothing at all because it’s just you, no one else, and the scene and the setting and the serenity cannot be hurried past because there is something unidentifiable, something mystical, something magical happening – let alone so, so very beautiful – as softly falling snow delicately covers all upon which it lands.
Branches will bow and tracks will be covered.
And as the snow accumulates the path ahead will be as if a white runner for the bride has been carefully placed, and there, down the aisle, she comes, walking toward you, and you wait, smiling, eyes glistening.
She is so beautiful.
Seventeen months ago today my bride left, having succumbed to cancer.
And I no longer have promises to keep, nor miles to go before I sleep.
Just memories of how beautiful she was, how blessed I’ve been.
I feel the loss. As my wife and I grow older, I realize that the loss could come at any time and I hug and kiss her and hold her close. I understand.