This Frosty Winter Night

Every so often, I’ll take a break from my novel-reading, and I’ll read some poetry.   I personally have a rather meager stash; some of Tennyson, a book of Frost, and all of Shakespeare, but really not much else.  Recently, Frost has been chilling (quite literally, as it’s gotten pretty cold out) in my car.  I refuse to go anywhere without a book, and so he’s been my emergency book for the past few weeks.

A couple of weekends ago, I got the chance to hangout at a coffee shop and took it, giving me some good time to read Frost’s work, and ever since then, I haven’t been able to get his poetry off my mind.

I sincerely enjoyed my rich, chooclately mocha curtesy of Coffee Slingers in downtown Oklahoma City while I read.

I sincerely enjoyed my rich, chooclate-ly mocha courtesy of Coffee Slingers in downtown Oklahoma City while I read.

I always enjoy Robert Frost, although he isn’t exactly my favorite poet.  However, one of his poems, “Good Hours,” really just seems to depict my life this winter.


Good Hours

 I had for my winter evening walk—

No one at all with whom to talk,

But I had the cottages in a row

Up to their shining eyes in snow.

 And I thought I had the folk within:

I had the sound of a violin;

I had a glimpse through curtain laces

Of youthful forms and youthful faces.

I had such company outward bound.

I went till there were no cottages found.

I turned and repented, but coming back

I saw no window but that was black.

 Over the snow my creaking feet

Disturbed the slumbering village street

Like profanation, by your leave,

At ten o’clock of a winter eve.

Robert Frost


I spend a good deal of time alone.  Partially by choice, partially by chance, hours and hours of my days are spent in solitude.  On Saturday, I decided to take an arbitrary-solo-Christmas-light-seeing-adventure through the historic, super fancy part of Oklahoma City, and as I drove, I felt quite like Frost (or Frost’s character, be it as it may), in the poem.  I was just an observer in people’s lives and homes, wandering through town in the dark of night (granted, I was in my safe, heated, minivan, but that is moderately irrelevant).  And as I drove, although I enjoyed myself, I began to notice how alone I really was, despite the many (strange) houses and streets that I passed.

There are many points in my life in which I have felt that my observations are intrusive, and I regret my solitary curiosity.

But next winter’s eve, chances are, I will once again be found, the only soul left awake in a slumbering house, the only headlights in a dark street, and the only eyes left to see what happens when the people stop watching.

So here’s to winter, and nights worth remembering.

Until next time,

Claire Marie

Advertisements

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s