Two Roads Diverged

So there between two roads diverged, though there were no yellow trees in this bitter winter frost, and no one man would ever consider making the walk in such a day’s condition, but regardless to the caution signs which rang and forewarned of cataclysmic danger, or at least of severe frostbite, which one would assume any proper gentleman would wish to avoid, stood however a single pilgrim cold and grim without the slightest clue of what to do or where to go (for he had lost his key somewhere in what was a powdering snow, but that very snow was now but a sheathe of ice encasing this key wherever it might be), and this key he held quite dear to his heart, or rather his pocket, which is where it should have and would have been if he had not lost it in the black-hole that is ironically not black at all, but is instead a clever silver-blue with a glint of gold, but gold it cannot be for there is no possible scientific nor logical explanation as to why the snow would reflect this golden tinge, because gold or rather yellow is absorbed by winter’s snow among the many other colors of the spectrum which is why it would be white and so that gold which hides beneath the surface of the snow there must be the very key that he did desperately seek, at least he thought he sought, for by the time he found it the pilgrim was befuddled as to why he stood between to two roads in the first place.