I'm going out to clean the pasture spring;
I'll only stop to rake the leaves away
(And wait to watch the water clear, I may):
I sha'n't be gone long.—You come too.
Something near that, anyway. From "The Pasture" I think.
As a few of you know, I'll soon be relocating (the sooner the
better, says I) to a new domicile…neither near, nor yet too far from
where I sit presently pecking away.
Unfortunately, said migration will likely involve an upheaval the likes of which has possibly never been witnessed - well, at least since you last saw a rerun of "Sanford & Son." (Ever try to move out of somewhere you've lived for more than a quarter-century? Those of you who have will
appreciate the sheer magnitude of what I'm saying, hehe.)
So I may be silent the next several days – quieter than usual, I
mean – whilst suffering yon faeried slings and arrows of The Great
Migration.
The good news, I oughtn't be incommunicado for more than a few days…
less than a week I'm almost sure. (Or maybe that's the bad news…
depends who you ask I guess.)
Having said that, this is not a "Today…right this minute" sort of
thing. It is tho, coming down the pike quicker than one of last
season's Red Socks pitches. The actual "disappearance" in my case may
not be until tomorrow.
At any rate, as I said – or in this case, Frost said:
I sha'n't be gone long.—You come too.
