Stopping by Woods

I shot a long video of my mother some 20 minutes before she died though no one imagined she was anything but healthy that fateful afternoon. It’s a mercy my battery died before she did or the video would be utterly unbearable to watch instead of merely painful. But where do the dead GO? And why don’t any one of them ever write? My Great Aunt Mame used to get so exasperated as she started naming all her dead: mother,  father, all nine siblings, her friend the town’s postmistress, the parish priest Father O’Brien .... “Not even a postcard!” she'd bluster disgustedly before laughing at the folly of her anger.I once bought an audio tape of Robert Frost reading his own poems that I treasure because there it is, his very voice. And now thanks to the artistry of British videographer Jim Clark, here he is again, reciting for me every time I press the 'Play' icon below.I realize there must be plenty of film of him reading when he was on the circuit  but by that point in his life he had suffered and darkened; anyway even at the best of times he was no showman. But you touch 'Play' now too and see that even in this photo taken when his eyes were closed,  he appears lost in thought merely, as if composing the words on the spot. Here then: "Stopping By Woods on a Snowy Evening" for us all at week's beginning with miles to go before we sleep too.[youtube=http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=yG24ohpacDk&feature=list_related&playnext=1&list=MLGxdCwVVULXdKFxVoDP3Ieo689GKmlQYV]