That second night, after an exceptionally warm spring day, I came home, then ventured down to the river that was outside my room. Running along side of it was the all season recreational path that was well-travelled with skis, snowshoes, and boots. It quickly led me over the river, to the woods, where I simply couldn't avoid remembering the Robert Frost poem I had memorized in 5th grade enrichment class. The new england-ness of the trail was all I could've asked for. In the passing late afternoon, the world was black and white, but ever so slightly blurred, or so I felt, which softened what I saw, and again led me to great contemplation, without really being sure what it was that I was contemplating. There are times when I don't want to talk to anyone, no matter who they are. I do need to withdraw into my mind sometimes, and try to think through myself. I like this silence, and even when in my room, am glad I wasn't lured into the glowing box that could have so easily provided numbing entertainment, and absence of anything meaningful.