The Road
By Robert Frost
Two roads diverged in a yellow wood,
And sorry I could not travel both
And be one traveler, long I stood
And looked down one as far as I could
To where it bent in the undergrowth;
Then took the other, as just as fair,
And having perhaps the better claim,
Because it was grassy and wanted wear;
Though as for that the passing there
Had worn them really about the same,
And both that morning equally lay
In leaves no step had trodden black.
Oh, I kept the first for another day!
Yet knowing how way leads on to way,
I doubted if I should ever come back.
I shall be telling this with a sigh
Somewhere ages and ages hence:
Two roads diverged in a wood, and I—
I took the one less traveled by,
And that has made all the difference.
The Road
I was scouting fall foliage photo opportunities in Michigan’s Upper Peninsula near Munising last week. A decision lay ahead. A sketchy dirt road diverged to my left. The car’s navigation system told me it didn’t exist.
My interest was piqued. Since the road wasn’t posted “no trespassing,” I elected to explore.
The forest was at the peak of autumnal beauty. But the three-dimensional scene lacked the elements to successfully translate into an interesting two-dimensional photograph.
I crept along for a few miles until I saw this tunnel of backlit foliage. The camera and tripod were soon out of my bag.
For the next half hour, I enjoyed the solitude of the woods ablaze with colors, the warmth of the sun, the smell of fall, and the rustling of leaves in the breeze.
Thanks for looking,
Chuck Derus