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63Mr. Drake's Woodpile-Poem
He's at it again. Each day the tier grows higher. Sticks on sticks, birches and maples wedged and shoved and made to fit and get along. Mr.Drake is toe-deep in sawdust. His mind is busy and I cough when I approach. One mustn't...
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62litchfield winter cabin
Winter in Connecticut has many charms, most of which bring to mind poems by Robert Frost such as Stopping by the Woods on a Snowy Evening or The Woodpile. The place pictured is where my wife and I aspire to retire. I say aspire because the...
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