The Frost poem below makes me think of a very odd thing that happened to me once while I was visiting my parents several years ago. It was summer. A warm and humid night. I wanted a walk. So I headed out the door, down the road, and turned onto a narrow, poorly paved road that runs above a quarry near them. There are few houses on the road. There was no moon. It was very dark.

So there I am, walking along Swagger Road, when I think I hear something... it sounds like... someone playing an organ. Or, at least, listening to organ music. I walk on. At first faint, it grows more and more distinct. Yes, it is organ music. No, it's not. It's 'kitten on the keys' organ music... no, it doesn't sound quite like that.

I waklk on. It grows louder and louder. Then, it seems that it's just about in front of me. I don't see the lights from any house by the road, and yet it seems to be coming from nearby.

I didn't see him until I was on top of him. Standing in the middle of the deserted country road was a man making whatever sound he could (it couldn't be called 'playing,' as there was no skill here) an accordion. I startled him and he startled me at about the same moment. I said "hello" and he said "hello" and I walked on.

Bucks County is interesting in that way.

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