Two roads diverged in a yellow wood, And sorry I could not travel both And be one traveler, long I stood And looked down one as far as I could To where it bent in the undergrowth; Then took the other, as just as fair, And having perhaps the better claim, Because it was grassy and wanted wear; Though as for that the passing there Had worn them really about the same,

And both that morning equally lay In leaves no step had trodden black. Oh, I kept the first for another day! Yet knowing how way leads on to way, I doubted if I should ever come back.

I shall be telling this with a sigh Somewhere ages and ages hence: Two roads diverged in a wood, and I— I took the one less traveled by, And that has made all the difference.

Robert Frost, The Road Not taken

The time has almost come to leave the rat-race behind and head for the woods. I've already hugged a number of dear friends, knowing it will be many months before I am again in London to see them. It is bittersweet, almost melancholy. An exciting time ahead comes at the cost of a comfortable and beloved home, people, routine, and surrounding. Four days from the airport I feel very much at a junction, one road less traveled and uncertain, and the other safe, predictable and happy. I wonder if Frost regretted his choice? Or was it his salvation? I suppose there is only one way to find out.