As is my habit I like to write about my walks wherever I happen to be. I admit to being awed, puzzled by and frequently in the thrall of nature. I can't help but ask the "why" question when I'm out in it's midst.

A couple of posts ago I wrote what I thought was kind of a fun little poem on my berry about a berry, while in Nose Hill Park (I was out there again this morning too). I enjoy poetry but it was meant to be a fun little ditty, but my interest, admiration and chronic bewilderment is sincere.

I received a nice response from Colin who subsequently passed on the following great poem from Wallace Stevens. Read it and enjoy!

The Snow Man

WALLACE STEVENS

One must have a mind of winter To regard the frost and the boughs Of the pine-trees crusted with snow;

And have been cold a long time To behold the junipers shagged with ice, The spruces rough in the distant glitter

Of the January sun; and not to think Of any misery in the sound of the wind, In the sound of a few leaves,

Which is the sound of the land Full of the same wind That is blowing in the same bare place

For the listener, who listens in the snow, And, nothing himself, beholds Nothing that is not there and the nothing that is