Swinger of Birches and No More
I'm joining the beautiful Micha Boyett today over at Mama Monk at Patheos. I wrote some reflections from a camping weekend recently and I'd love to have you join me over there!
There is a poem by Robert Frost I love. I suppose that's juvenile of me and I suppose I don't care if it is."One could do worse than be a swinger of birches," it ends and I always agree.
Whenever I am in the wild, or as we Americans call our twelve dollar campsites in our North Face gear and purified water in BPA free bottles "in the wild," I think about Enoch and I think about birches.
