Stopping By Woods on a Snowy Evening

I’m writing this in the greenroom of Delmar Hall in St. Louis MO on a peaceful, niveous evening, thinking about the classic poem by Robert Frost, Stopping By Woods on a Snowy Evening.

Whose woods these are I think I know.   

His house is in the village though;   

He will not see me stopping here   

To watch his woods fill up with snow.   

My little horse must think it queer   

To stop without a farmhouse near   

Between the woods and frozen lake   

The darkest evening of the year.   

He gives his harness bells a shake   

To ask if there is some mistake.   

The only other sound’s the sweep   

Of easy wind and downy flake.   

The woods are lovely, dark and deep,   

But I have promises to keep,   

And miles to go before I sleep,   

And miles to go before I sleep.

The last stanza in particular resonates as we near the end of this three month extravaganza - the road, in my case, is indeed lovely, dark and deep, still mysterious and nourishing after all these years, but there’re parts of my story that can’t be told from the comfy confines of the tour bus, and I’m excited to carry over the positive momentum from Allen Stone land into new projects when this tour wraps.