As the Olympics start, we got
a taste of it with snow late yesterday.
The world is stunning this morning.
Fluffy snow. It looks like the Larsson
painting and this poem:
THE SNOW
Emily Dickinson
It sifts from leaden sieves,
It powders all the wood,
It fills with alabaster wool
The wrinkles of the road.
It makes an even face
Of mountain and of plain, --
Unbroken forehead from the east
Unto the east again.
It reaches to the fence,
It wraps it, rail by rail,
Till it is lost in fleeces;
It flings a crystal veil
On stump and stack and stem, --
The summer's empty room,
Acres of seams where harvests were,
Recordless, but for them.
It ruffles wrists of posts,
As ankles of a queen, --
Then stills its artisans like ghosts,
Denying they have been.
1 comment:
Even we got snow this time . . . I'll upload photos later on. Maybe to do a photobucket if I have time. I am looking forward to reading your ChildLight post. I finally read my second Scott book all the way through (The Monastery)!
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