Two roads diverged in a golden wood,
The one most worn to take I should,
For to Leave-No-Trace is the mandate,
so I can preserve what is good.
Looked down that path I would not take,
between the woods and gleaming lake.
I think I will stay my self here
as the harvest moon climbs its stake.
I'm happy my friends are quite queer
and I've made many new this year.
Though the challenges we face are steep,
they give me strength when I have fear.
The woods are lovely, dark and deep,
But I have errands to complete.
And tasks to do before I sleep,
and tasks to do before I sleep.
twovests OP wrote (edited )
This is a combination and adaptation of Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening and The Road Not Taken.
This is a literal description of the thoughts I was having last night, about 19 hours ago. The largest super moon of the year, and the harvest moon, was just barely eeking about the trees as the last light as the sun faded away.
The woods were lovely, dark, and deep, but I also didn't want to step in dog or deer shit. It gave me good reasons to stand and watch as the moon climbed above the trees, as did its reflection crawl deeper across the lake. It wobbled and shimmered pretty beautifully.
Eventually, I went home, because I have so much shit to do.
These poems increasingly resonate with me because they are increasingly legible to me. Last year, on the darkest evening of the year, I really did find myself a few miles into a walk between woods and a frozen lake. Before that, I would find myself awash in crimson and gold, seeing dark stalks of trees imply paths one way or the other.
"Leave no trace" is a set of principles that are really easy to derive, and harken to transcedentalist thinking. One of the principles means that you should understand that your treads are destructive. If there already is a path through the woods, take that, so you limit your destruction to already-trodden ground.
But "The Road Not Taken" says the less-worn path is "grassy and wanting wear", which is the exact opposite of what the modern "leave no trace" understanding dictates. Like a Wii does not want orange juice, the grassy path is not "wanting wear".
Even more, "The Road Not Taken" is kind of tongue-in-cheek, as the author assigns grandiosity to the decision on what path to take, even though it literally does not matter. Stay on path!
Many of the woods I frequent are ones which were saved due to conservationist efforts that can be tied to transcedentalist thinking. I don't want to ascribe my worldview to those of white early-1800s Americans, but I am thankful that these poems are recognizable things I can think of on my walks, and that these miniature ranges weren't blasted to make way for an Amazon mega warehouse.
They're so recognizable that this silly task (inverting "The Road Not Taken" and combining it with "Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening") produces a poem that is also just a literally true accounting of how I spent a night.