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Ana Paula Keczeli
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Stopping By Woods On A Snowy Evening

Whose woods these are I think I know.
His house is in the village, though; 
He will not see me stopping here
To watch his woods fill up with snow.
My little horse must think it queer
To stop without a farmhouse near
Between the woods and frozen lake
The darkest evening of the year.
He gives his harness bells a shake
To ask if there is some mistake.
The only other sound's the sweep
Of easy wind and downy flake.
The woods are lovely, dark, and deep,
But I have promises to keep,
And miles to go before I sleep,
And miles to go before I sleep.

Robert Frost
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Para los que me preguntan sobre mi practica budista, muy escueto resumen, pero acertado.

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Profunda reflexión que se aplica a todos los planos de nuestra mirada.  Para pensar.

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Cosas que ando pensando estos días.
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