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  • We walked along the silent wooded road. Home is up ahead, less than half an hour away. We looked into the woods. It was filling up with snow. We decide to produce a rendition of Robert Frost. Stopping, as we were, by woods on a snowy evening.

    "Whose woods these are, I do not know (we didn't)
    His house is by the village though..."

    It was approaching the darkest evening of the year.

    The snow. The woods. The December evening light.


    P.S. I read in a book that Robert Frost wrote Stopping By Woods On A Snowy Evening in June.

    See here for the poem read and film of the darkest evening of the year.

    Photo : suite101 website
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