Two roads diverged in a solstice wood,
And sorry I could not ride them both,
Being one cyclist, long I stood,
Unclipped, astride my steel-framed truth,
Watching my breath rise pale and slow
Against the dusk the sun let go.
Whose woods these are, I think I know—
His house is warm beyond the hill;
He will not see me lingering so
Where frozen lake and timber spill
Their silence outward, blue and deep,
While longest shadows stretch and keep.
The roads lay empty, hushed, unnamed,
Their crowns of ice caught dying light;
Each looked as fair, each looked the same,
Each promising a longer night.
One bent toward trees and darkened glass,
Where wind combed snow like brittle grass;
The other climbed, just as austere,
Its ruts held fast in silver glaze.
My tires whispered: choose with care,
My cleats replied with small delays.
A cable ticked, a shifting sound,
As if the bike itself weighed ground.
So here I stood, no shelter near,
Between the woods, the lake, the sky,
On solstice dusk, the darkest year
Keeps folded in a single sigh.
The cold laid claim to spoke and frame,
Yet asked no hurry, cast no blame.
I took the road that asked me more—
Not braver, better, only still,
Where fewer tracks had gone before
And patience counted more than will.
The snow lay smooth, unscarred, complete,
No rubber cracked its quiet sheet.
I rode, and felt the miles accrue
Like thoughts one does not rush to end,
Each breath a vow the body knew,
Each turn a lesson time would send.
The woods were lovely, dark, and deep,
And full of things a soul must keep.
Yet wonder is no place to stay
When winter tightens every seam;
The light is brief, the road is long,
And motion is the truest dream.
I pedaled on through falling flake,
The hush no effort needs to make.
Somewhere, ages and ages hence,
I’ll tell this ride with quiet cheer:
How choice arrived without pretense
On one cold night of shortest year;
How going on, not turning back,
Made peace with doubt and left no track.
For roads are made of more than snow,
And miles of more than measured ground;
We ride to learn what hearts can know
By moving through what holds us bound.
And still I ride, through dark and sleep—
I have such winter miles to keep,
And far to go before I sleep,
And far to go before I sleep.
