Monday morning Driving through the mist, and stopping by the woods

Stopping by the woods or Shawshank Redemption

I was driving through the mist today. Yet again for the 100th time to work. The misty mountain road was an absolute retreat for the eyes. Yet my mind was not at rest. I could not stop and watch the beauty. Not because I did not have five minutes to spare. Maybe I could have written a poem like Robert Frost.

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.   

Misty mountains are Magical

I wasn't brave like Robert Frost, as I know if I stopped to appreciate the beauty, I would feel more miserable at work. So, I did not. I did not stop my car; I did not open my window and took a fresh air. I did not reduce the speed in those misty mountain roads. You can call me a coward. My eyes are made up to see the beauty like Robert Frost, and my mind is made up to see the logic like Jane Eyre. And fortunately, or unfortunately both are still working at their best. I'm sad I do not have a free mind of a wild horse or a backpacker. Maybe I am jealous after all.

This reminded me of the Shawshank redemption. This was one of the greatest drama films ever made. And somehow, I have missed it when I was in university. It was only a couple of weeks ago I had watched it, so I still can remember the plot.

The Plot.

A middle-aged banker Andy Dufresne, who went to prison accused of killing of his wife, adapts to prison life. He spent years and years like a victim to bullying and harassment by other inmates and prison guards. And finally, because of his knowledge and experience becomes a respectable member, expanding the prison library and giving financial advice to officers. Even helping them to avoid tax and keep accounts neat, all those illicit money. But he has been dreaming secretly of freedom. As he had broken the prison and left seeking freedom after years and years of struggle. Nobody had a clue, not even his close friends inside, until he had escaped. With a little rock hammer, he had taken all the years to build a tunnel of freedom. I am sure he ended up in a beach somewhere in Mexico. Away from all the burden that he chose to carry. Wow? What a retreat.

Mountains Drawing. Watch me draw in YouTube.

My excuse for Monday Morning driving through the mist

Now, you should excuse me for being cowardly driving in the morning, and did not stop by the woods, instead await redemption from Shawshank. I know nature is the place where I must rest. And it seems inevitable that I will be with nature when I am a grandpa like Robert frost, Yet I am still Mr. Andy in his Prime. My rock hammer is my words, with it I softly strike. And this blog you are reading now is my tunnel for freedom that I create with it. And day by day, I will dig a hole in my prison wall, ironically built by my Ghost of the past with greed. So, I can be free one day and there would be no rush through the misty mountains then, indeed. So I would be that backpacker laughing at some idiot who drives past me in 80kmph, with closed windows. And I will write,

One day on a Monday morning

While I was walking through those mysterious misty mountains

Breathing fresh air humming like a bird

Listening to water splashing in Brooks

While the sun is still weak, to break out the tapestry of mist

With ferocious beams of golden light

While pretty birds still rest in their nests frosted

Due to the chilling air in the scary dark forest

While I was tying shoelaces, dripped

With dew from the wet grass.

I saw an idiot in a white Civic driving 100 kmph to work, splashing me

And I took a photo to add to my album of February fools.

Forgetting that was me in youth.

Thank you for reading this. You may like Prisoners of mind.