Nursery rhymes and Dr. Seuss caught me as a child. Then poetry disappeared from my life, and I didn’t notice. In high school, I analyzed the elements of assigned poems, managing to do so without thought or connection. In college, I avoided math, foreign languages, and all things poetic; and as a young adult, I forgot poetry existed.
Then Robert Frost rose up, thumped me on my head, caught my attention, and took my breath away with a flow of simple words focused on a fleeting moment.
Dust of Snow 
by Robert Frost
The way a crow
Shook down on me
The dust of snow
From a hemlock tree
Has given my heart
A change of mood
And saved some part
Of a day I had rued.
With his straightforward description of a meaningful moment in his life, Mr. Frost captured similar brief, shining occurrences I had experienced — moments that lifted me from myself and filled me with a sense of wonder: a monarch butterfly hovering near my face, a mountain sunset of magenta staining a river below, a breeze ruffling the cottonwood leaves through which I climbed, morning light outlining the silhouette of an elk, a bear playing peek-a-boo by repeatedly popping his head out of road-side undergrowth, then quickly withdrawing.
An evening grosbeak showed up in our yard today.
I was drinking coffee with Joel, idly gazing at a spring-infused morning through windows in need of washing, when a male grosbeak plunked himself down in our platform feeder.
My heart leaped. After last summer’s absence, the bird with an unfortunate name and striking appearance had returned. I grabbed the binoculars to verify his details: bright yellow forehead and body, exaggerated pale bill, white-blazed wings and confident demeanor.
A grosbeak picking through the sunflower seeds we’d sprinkled with hope transformed my morning; a morning I had dreaded for reasons that now seemed insignificant.
The splendid bird also reunited me, however briefly, with an esteemed poet named Robert Frost: the man who returned me to poetry.
Aunt Beulah 
Robert Frost is also one of my all-time favorite poets– My personal favorite is “Into My Own.” I love how poetry can transform the ordinary into extra-ordinary. 😊
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While looking for Dust of Snow, I got caught up in rereading many of his poems, Becca, and remembered why I like them so. I’m glad you are a Frost fan as well.
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Wonderfully written. I think people who ignore their insignificance in the face of nature have a hole in their soul. I’m working on an essay about this very thing right now. Each time I read it through, I’m convinced that I don’t possess the skill to make the point. You managed to do it and keep it tight.
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Oh, you have the skill, Rob. I’ll look forward to your take on the subject. I think we must continue to write about nature, and often, because it is being encroached on more and more. I thought you would relate to Frost’s poem and my moments, and I’m glad you did.
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The encroachment is the topic of the piece I’m working on. I should have it done soon. I’ll post it around July 1st. The next post will be my latest accepted piece.
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How pleased I am whenever I read the words “accepted piece” in a comment from you. In addition to having talent, you’ve worked and studied with diligence and are reaping the rewards. I look forward to both pieces.
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God has been good to me; I think He wants me to tell people about His mountains.
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He made a good decision, Rob.
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An enchanting and elegant post. It reminds us to stop and appreciate all the seemingly insignificant natural occasions of the day.
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Oh, I like the word “elegant” Kay; it makes me feel like I know what I’m doing. I find it easy, this time of year, to soak up nature.
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For reasons I may describe someday, I studied poetry more than I ever had planned to. That left me with a profound respect for poets. I follow a large number of poets and I enjoy almost everything they write. This is certainly a nice reminder as to why that may be the case. Thanks.
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Your respect for poets and appreciation of their works comes through loud and clear in your blog, Dan. Since my discovery of the Frost poem and recognition of its universality, I, too, have read poetry, though I never studied it as did you. I’d like to hear the reasons why some day.
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Janet, your lovely post takes MY breath away. The moments you describe, that filled you with wonder, cause me to think and remember moments of my own. Aunt Beulah’s gentle thoughts and wisdom, so beautifully written, are themselves transformative.
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Oh, thank you, Mercy. I think you’ll appreciate knowing that it was Bill who read Dust of Snow, related to it in a big way, and told me I must read it. So truthfully, I guess you could say it was Bill who thumped me on the head.
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Hmmm, somehow I can better picture Robert Frost thumping you with poetry.. Actually, I remember Bill as an intelligent, educated reader and I can see him sharing a poem, especially related to nature. We’re happy you thumped a path to poetry, and now share your own writing.
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In one of his abortive attempts to get the college degree his parents desired for him, Bill took a poetry class,enjoyed it, got an A, and continued reading poetry off and on. Other favorites of his besides Dust of Snow were Invictis by William Ernest Henry and Sea Fever by John Masefield.If you’re not familiar with them, as I wasn’t until he showed them to me, you might want to take a look at them.
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Robert Frost is one of my favorites. I was fortunate to be able to visit his farm in New Hampshire. It was moving to envelope the surroundings where he lived and wrote. Thank you for sharing.
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Oh, how lucky you are to have walked where Frost lived and wrote; and how perfect that you found your visit moving. Thanks to you, I’ve another must-go on my places to visit list.
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My husband has business in that area again next week. Small world. ☺️
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This is one of my favorites!the word pictures were amazing. K
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So good to hear from you, Kay. Thank you for noticing my word pictures. I worked hard on them and felt pleased with the result, so I appreciate hearing you liked them. Do you ever visit Craig? I’d love to see you.
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I love the way you can transport me into your world Janet.
I’m so please Robert Frost came along to remind you of your gift! Lovely photo of the grosbeak, a gorgeous bird that I’d never heard of before. Thank you for widening my world. 🙂
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I’m glad you find grosbeak as gorgeous as I do, Barbara. As I answer you I can count three in the feeder, one drinking from the bird bath, and two more in a nearby tree. I think a couple of grosbeak families are being raised in our yard. It is so much fun. And I appreciate your kind words about my writing.
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Ahh, Robert Frost-odd favorite for a West Coast of Canada girl, R.L.Stevenson, Langston Hughes, Robert Service, I can’t remember not loving poetry. They indeed broadened what may have remained a very narrow world. When you memorize a poem, no matter how trite, it is a companion in good and bad times, a comfort if you awake unsure or afraid. You are a treasured and fine writer. (We shipped a Grain Mill to Bighorn Wyoming today, thought of you) Thanks Janet.
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Once I rediscovered poetry with Mr. Frost’s help, I loved it as well, including the works of the poets you mention. Strange, Sheila, but in times of wakefulness or stress, I too recite poems or snippets of poems. They soothe me. I know Bighorn well; I didn’t receive intimations of your thought about me yesterday, but maybe I will when the parcel arrives in Bighorn.
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Good morning Janet- do you recall Mr Frost at JFK’s inaugeration, reading in the cold? Quite profound. Edith in Bighorn will be getting a lovely mill. Happy Thursday.
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I do remember the marvelous combination of the grand poet and the grand, good-looking young president when American spirits were optimistic and the sixties hadn’t yet taken their toll. Up to that point, the only inauguration I remember was Dwight D. Eisenhower’s because my class rode in the back of a livestock truck to our classmate Barney’s home, where sat the only TV in Lake Shore, to watch it. Another grand occasion. I hope your Thursday is happy as well, Sheila.
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Brilliant, dear!
For some reason the older we get, the more we fall away from poetry and pretty little things. Good reminder! Thank you 🙂
http://montanaviolist.com/
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You are so right! We do get busy with our lives and fall away from poetry an little, nice moments. I picked up one of my books of poetry this morning to find the author of another poem, ended up browsing it for some time, and wondered why I don’t read poetry every day. So nice to hear from you.
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Yep, nature grounds me when things appear overwhelming. Love the old poets. As long as birds and everything else that inhabits our garden thrive I’m never short of somewhere to relax and recharge 🙂 Great post. Linda
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Sounds like we’re two of a kind when it comes to old poets and the life in a garden. Why doesn’t that surprise me?
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You know I take my Dylan Thomas shaken but not stirred. I like my Wordsworth on ice. But my Robert Frost, I always seem to take him straight up the way William Faulkner took his Hemingway. He goes down hard but the after effects feel pretty good. At least, he doesn’t give me a hangover the way William Blake does.
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Don, your reply is so funny, so you, so representative of why your blog is one I never miss and think everybody should read. I read your comment before my early morning walk and then thought about it and chuckled the rest of the morning. I’m curious: how did you take The Rime of the Ancient Mariner?
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Coleridge should have stayed off the drugs.
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Ah, but then we wouldn’t have:
About, about, in reel and rout
The death-fires danced at night;
The water, like a witch’s oils,
Burnt green, and blue and white.
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This is simply so many lovely phrases strung together as pearls. I just was happy reading and re-reading your column. Thatk you, Aunt B.
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I’m glad you liked it, Audrey. Thanks for letting me know.
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I liked the way you talked about how poetry lifted you from yourself, as did your Grosbeak neighbor. That’s the great thing about both poetry and nature. It just takes a small snippet to change the weary set of our shoulders. I’m so glad I found your blog. I always enjoy reading what you write.
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Oh, I like the phrase “change the weary set of our shoulders” because it exactly captures what I was trying to say. Isn’t it nice that we found each other? Such happy discoveries are the best part of blogging.
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Always fascinating to me how something with the appearance of simplicity – Frost’s poems, a single bird at a feeder – are actually the most complex and stir thoughts and emotions that are deeply moving. I so enjoy your beautiful writing. Thank you!
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This insightful comment captures in a sentence what I took several paragraphs to say. You are a thoughtful reader and I always appreciate your reactions to my words.
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The Evening Grosbeak is a splendid bird. How fortuitous to see one at just the right moment.
Janet, I loved your descriptions of several transformative moments in your life. As another commenter noted: such elegant language!
The Robert Frost poem is wonderful too. Two years ago I walked the Robert Frost Interpretive Trail in Vermont. The trail crossed meadows and woodlands; Frost’s poems were etched in plaques alongside the path. A perfect way to spend an afternoon!
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I didn’t even know there is a Robert Frost Interpretive Trail, Rita. It sounds wonderful. thanks for telling me about it and for your always kind words about my blog.
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What a beautifully written piece tied together from start to finish. You made me enjoy poetry!
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Thank you, Mom. Some of the passages in your blog are written so lyrically that I assumed you both read and wrote poetry. Perhaps you should!
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He-He-He. I’m way too verbose to distill thoughts into condensed phrases…even this could have been shorter, but I didn’t have time 😉
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Verbose? I’ll never believe it.
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You and I share a love of Robert Frost. I owe a great deal to him. He inspired my love of poetry, too.
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I find I go back to his poems more than any others. Every word is direct and necessary, even poem powerful in its simplicity. I’m glad to hear that you enjoy him as well.
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