Announced by all the trumpets of the sky, Arrives the snow, and, driving o'er the fields, Seems nowhere to alight: the whited air Hides hills and woods, the river, and the heaven, And veils the farmhouse at the garden's end. The sled and traveller stopped, the courier's feet Delayed, all friends shut out, the housemates sit Around the radiant fireplace, enclosed In a tumultuous privacy of storm.
Ralph Waldo Emerson
This morning I woke up to the first snowfall of the year. It's awfully pretty, but I'm still hoping that it will be gone by this afternoon. My idea of the perfect snowfall is that it snows, it melts, it snows, it melts, it snows, it melts! That would be the makings of the perfect winter ;)