"Whose woods these are..."
Robert Frost wrote a poem in 1922 titled "Stopping By Woods on a Snowy Evening". For some reason, while going through thousands of my photographs this week - old and new - and despite the fact that snow has been basically on a leave of absence this winter season in the high mesa country, the poem has been wandering around in my head the last couple of days. The poem has been analyzed, picked apart, assigned meaning, and multiple interpretations. When I think about it, I take it at face value admiring the imagery, and the way Frost strung the words into lines and themes.
"Whose woods these are I think I know..." reminds me of the many trips we have made, heading west and gaining elevation toward the pass on U. S. Highway 64. Despite multiple visits, do I really know the woods in all their seasons? Probably not, but I love them. nonetheless. One stand of narrow leaf cottonwoods has always enchanted me.
Oaks in New Mexico are generally scrub or Gambel oaks, rather than the tall, towering varieties of the eastern hardwood forests in the United States, European oak forests or the live and white oaks growing in patches in California and Arizona. Their growth habit is a tangle and beautifully messy.
Along the highway, just a few places fit Frost's line "the woods are lovely, dark, and deep...". Plentiful water allows the growth of aspens and spruce "All Together", as I named this image, rendered here in black and white.
The woods tell their own stories, open to interpretation by the photographer or artist.
until next Monday,
a passion for the image@
Keywords: aspen, blacks crossing photography, cottonwoods, daryl a. black, mountains, narrow leaf cottonwoods, nature, new mexico, photography, robert frost, scenics, spruce, stopping by woods on a snowy evening, taos, trees, woods
I love trees and pictures of trees. Imagine, if you will, that photo of scrub oak and a Palamino horse running at full gallop into the thick stand of them with yours truly in the saddle trying desperately to turn her. Anytime I see a stand of scrub oak, now, I remember the obstinance of that ex-barrel racer in her determination to get me off of her. She didn't win, but neither did I. My saddle had taps and the stirrups got wedged between two trees, which brought an end to that mare's shenanigans and a beginning to the healing of the scabs on my face. Daryl, as enamored as I am with your color photographs, your black and white photos are so beautiful. I love how Aspen look in black and white, but any tree you portray seems magical. As if they're dancing happily in their "tribe". :) And, yeah...I really like your photo of the dancing scrub oaks. Just don't tell anyone.
Oops! Got caught up in a video maelstrom. Love these, Daryl, especially the black and white All Together, which indeed the aspens are as a single organism. That one glows. And that first Robert Frost phrase reminds us that we never fully know nature, that its mysteries are beyond us.
Thanks for the explanation of the ubiquitous oak. I've learned something new today.
Yes, every picture is a poem, Daryl! I love the black and white aspens so much! Sometimes trees appear to be dancers, I datesay!
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