I’ve been summit hopping in the windy, cold, summits of the Northeast with my uber dedicated assistants and a posse of knowledgeable and talented models (we are in an alpine hut with nobody else around for miles)… Pictures to come. But for now, a poem from the region that applies not only to my life currently (and the choices we made today) but also to some of the most enjoyable experiences in my life.
Two roads diverged in a yellow wood,
And sorry I could not travel both
And be one traveller, long I stood
And looked down one as far as I could
To where it bent in the undergrowth;
Then took the other, as just as fair,
And having perhaps the better claim,
Because it was grassy and wanted wear;
Though as for that the passing there
Had worn them really about the same,
And both that morning equally lay
In leaves no step had trodden black.
Oh, I kept the first for another day!
Yet knowing how way leads on to way,
I doubted if I should ever come back.
I shall be telling this with a sigh
Somewhere ages and ages hence:
Two roads diverged in a wood, and I–
I took the one less traveled by,
And that has made all the difference
…Robert Frost
Always loved and lived by that poem.