After Forsyth Park Farmers Market-ing Saturday morning, Robert and I were walking home, minding our own business, when out of the blue, the Universe spoke to me again. (A fairly common occurrence these days.)
“It’s the end of October,” I thought. “Isn’t it a little late for hydrangeas to still be blooming?” But glancing up and down the row of bushes, I noticed that all the other hydrangeas were NOT blooming, except for this LONE, stubborn survivor.
I was mesmerized, the bloom just SO very June fresh.
“It’s rude to stare,” she interrupted my thoughts, a bit offended.
“Sorry, I didn’t meant to stare. But I’m floored to see you here when all of your … your brothers and sisters are … are less than alive.” (My awkward attempt to avoid further rudeness.)
“May I ask why you ARE still here?” I timidly wondered.
Her demeanor shifted, and she smiled the tiniest of smiles.
“I suppose you can, but I’ll let Frost answer for me.”
The woods are lovely dark and deep,
But I have promises to keep,
And miles to go before I sleep,
And miles to go before I sleep.
“Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening” by Robert Frost
I walked home with lively, renewed fervor in my step.