The Road Not Taken
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.
Every Autumn I recall these words by Robert Frost, and they suited the mood of Autumn in Dunkeld, Highland Perthshire, to a tee. In the town itself you feel a grounding sense of perspective, looking up at the larch-covered hills rising to nestle in the clouds above, and watching the River Tay flow rapidly over the rocks below.
Rising early to beat the queue for Aran Bakery, we were rewarded with flaky almond croissants, still warm from the oven. A quick pitstop at sister shop Lon Store for an obligatory picnic and we were on our way to the forest with a basket full of treats and my tartan blanket. The yellow woods of the Hermitage are resplendent at this time of year: oak trees turn shades of ochre and gold against a backdrop of evergreen pines. We enjoyed our spoils by the rushing river, mesmerised by the nearby waterfalls and the golden and copper coloured leaves rustling in the breeze. Al sketched and I made a miniature wreath from nearby beech branches to remember our idyllic Autumn walk by. Truly, my happy place.
Click here to see my outfit from Dunkeld.