The bend on the road
" It’s when I’m weary of considerations, And life is too much like a pathless wood Where your face burns and tickles with the cobwebs Broken across it, and one eye is weeping From a twig’s having lashed across it open" Robert Frost, "Birches" (1969) The thought of quoting Birches for the opening of this month's blog sprang into my mind one morning, while I was walking past the train tracks, where rows of ivory birches flourished. Their twisting twigs pierced the cumulus clouds in the deep azure summer sky, while the wild roses, entangled in their mazes of shrubs, silently bloomed. The ducks, the frequent visitors of the stream running under the track, were unusually quiet today, except for a few cackles coming from the shrubs. Everything exuded the aura of daydreaming on a late June morning. Holding my backpack's straps together, I strode past the tree-lined cul-de-sac to reach the bend on the road, where stood my school's vast field. A good many of t...