“I dig old books.” ™
Snowflakes are kisses from heaven. ~Author unknown
The snow itself is lonely or, if you prefer, self-sufficient. There is no other time when the whole world seems composed of one thing and one thing only. ~Joseph Wood Krutch
Snowflakes are one of nature's most fragile things, but just look what they can do when they stick together. ~Vista M. Kelly
Nature has no mercy at all. Nature says, "I'm going to snow. If you have on a bikini and no snowshoes, that's tough. I am going to snow anyway." ~Maya Angelou
Out of the bosom of the Air,
Out of the cloud-folds of her garments shaken,
Over the woodlands brown and bare,
Over the harvest-fields forsaken,
Silent, and soft, and slow
Descends the snow.
~Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
There's one good thing about snow, it makes your lawn look as nice as your neighbor's. ~Clyde Moore
The lyric abstrusities of Auden ring mystically down the circular canals of my ear and it begins to look like snow. The good gray conservative obliterating snow. Smoothing (in one white lacy euphemism after another) out all the black bleak angular unangelic nauseous ugliness of the blasted sterile world: dry buds, shrunken stone houses, dead vertical moving people all all all go under the great white beguiling wave. And come out transformed. Lose yourself in a numb dumb snow-daubed lattice of crystal and come out pure with the white virginal veneer you never had. ~Sylvia Plath, journal, 1953
Getting an inch of snow is like winning 10 cents in the lottery. ~Bill Watterson
First hither and thither a feathery flake,
Softly and softly they winnow and shake;
And then in light handsful 'tis sifted and scattered,
And then comes a burst, like a cloud that is shattered;
Then—steady and fast and still faster it falleth...
~J.J. Britton (1832–1913), "Snow"
Do you hear the snow against the windowpanes, Kitty? How nice and soft it sounds! Just as if some one was kissing the window all over outside. I wonder if the snow loves the trees and fields, that it kisses them so gently? And then it covers them up snug, you know, with a white quilt; and perhaps it says, 'Go to sleep, darlings, till the summer comes again.' And when they wake up in the summer, Kitty, they dress themselves all in green, and dance about—whenever the wind blows... ~Lewis Carroll, Through the Looking-Glass, And What Alice Found There
In what bold relief stand out the lives of all walkers of the snow! The snow is a great tell-tale, and blabs as effectually as it obliterates. I go into the woods, and know all that has happened. I cross the fields, and if only a mouse has visited his neighbor, the fact is chronicled. ~John Burroughs, "The Snow-Walkers," 1866
...I shall smile when wreaths of snow
Blossom where the rose should grow...
There is nothing in the world more beautiful than the forest clothed to its very hollows in snow. It is the still ecstasy of nature, wherein every spray, every blade of grass, every spire of reed, every intricacy of twig, is clad with radiance. ~William Sharp
The two women walked cautiously over the path of hardened snow, planting their feet firmly and carefully.... In winter the very ground seemed to reach up and grab the elderly, yanking them to earth as though hungry for them.... Best to take it slow. ~Louise Penny, Bury Your Dead, 2011
Then, comes the snow in its beauty,
Each flake a pattern of lace
That floats in the air, so gently;
Then, finds its own, special place.
~Gertrude Tooley Buckingham, "God is an Artist of Nature" (1940s)
Snow-flakes! Yes, it is true, in accordance with the child-thought, you come floating so gently down from Heaven as if afraid of hurting the wintry earth.... Ye gentle, fleecy things!... Snow-flakes! ~A.S. Macduff, "The Message of the Snow-Flakes," in The Sunday Magazine (London), 1884
I used to stare up at the sky trying to see where the snowflakes were born. I could do it for hours. Well, minutes. But it was always the waiting that was the most fun. ~Author unknown, from a package of Starbucks coffee, 2010
Oh, what is as lovely as flakes of snow
That float through the air as the wind doth blow?!
They settle to earth, these beautiful flakes,
On hilltops and valleys, rivers and lakes...
Out in the country, where the snow stays white,
It glistens in beauty, a lovely sight!
While the city streets are soon quite a mess
Of slush and ice; this we have to confess!
But I, dearly, love each small flake of snow
That brings glad memories; and this I know:
These flakes, so perfect, so pure and so white,
Prove to us God's perfection and His might!
~Gertrude Tooley Buckingham, "Snow" (1940s)
Are ye the ghosts of fallen leaves,
O flakes of snow,
For which, through naked trees, the winds
Or are ye angels, bearing home
The host unseen
Of truant spirits, to be clad
Again in green?
~John B. Tabb, "Phantoms"
Blackened skeleton arms of wood by the wayside pointed upward to the convent, as if the ghosts of former travellers, overwhelmed by the snow, haunted the scene of their distress. Icicle-hung caves and cellars built for refuges from sudden storms, were like so many whispers of the perils of the place; never-resting wreaths and mazes of mist wandered about, hunted by a moaning wind; and snow, the besetting danger of the mountain, against which all its defences were taken, drifted sharply down. ~Charles Dickens, Little Dorrit, 1857
O the snow, the beautiful snow,
Filling the sky and earth below;
Over the house-tops, over the street,
Over the heads of the people you meet,
Dancing, flirting, skimming along.
~James W. Watson
A raw north wind sends patches of cloud and blue sky racing overhead, with a few light snow flurries. ~David J. Beard (1947–2016), tweet, 2009 December 29th
Lo, sifted through the winds that blow,
Down comes the soft and silent snow,
White petals from the flowers that grow
In the cold atmosphere.
~George W. Bungay
I wish that you could have seen the edge of the snow-cloud which hovered, oh, so soothingly, down to the grand Pilot Peak brows, discharging its heaven-begotten snows with such unmistakable gentleness and moving, perhaps with conscious love from pine to pine as if bestowing separate and independent blessings upon each. In a few hours we climbed under and into this glorious storm-cloud. What a harvest of crystal flowers, and what wind songs were gathered from the spirey firs and the long fringy arms of the Lambert pine. ~John Muir, from letter to Jeanne Carr, written from Yosemite, circa early spring 1871