[ insert the picture of snow falling under the light
of a street lamp I would have taken had my batteries
not died the instant I took out my camera ]
"The cold was our pride, the snow was our beauty. It fell and fell, lacing day and night together in a milky haze, making everything quieter as it fell, so that winter seemed to partake of religion in a way no other season did, hushed, solemn."
We just got back from a walk. The snow is beautiful. Hushed, solemn.