There is a rather dark woods just a mile off a cycle path that used to be a railway line but is now disused and overgrown.
I like to sit here and listen to the trees whisper and the creatures chatter in the undergrowth.
Passing By Woods On A Snowy Evening ~ Robert Frost ~
Whose woods these are I think I know.
His house is in the village, though;
He will not see me stopping here
To watch his woods fill up with snow.
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.
He gives his harness bells a shake
To ask if there is some mistake.
The only other sound’s the sweep
Of easy wind and downy flake.
The woods are lovely, dark and deep,
But I have promises to keep,
And miles to go before I sleep,
And miles to go before I sleep.