My Own Desert Places

<sub>Snow falling and night falling fast, oh, fast
In a field I looked into going past,
And the ground almost covered smooth in snow,
But a few weeds and stubble showing last.

The woods around it have it - it is theirs.
All animals are smothered in their lairs.
I am too absent-spirited to count;
The loneliness includes me unawares.

And lonely as it is, that loneliness
Will be more lonely ere it will be less -
A blanker whiteness of benighted snow
WIth no expression, nothing to express.

They cannot scare me with their empty spaces
Between stars - on stars where no human race is.
I have it in me so much nearer home
To scare myself with my own desert places.

(Robert Frost, 'Desert Places' )</sub>



I f.ckin' love Robert Frost. And I'm a total fool for ruins of any kind. So, although the poem doesn't describe the scenery of the pic, you may think of the image (like I do) as the inner desert place, very personal, the one in my head. Because that's how it looks like, each time I dwell in permanent isolation. ^^



The almost forgotten palace in the countryside of Włostów, Poland.
March 2011