The sun shines from a sparkling blue sky and I feel an urge to see the thick patches of snow spread over my nearest landscape of wilderness.
The snow has already started to melt when I walk into the forest and I hear an unfamiliar sound among the trees.
That is snow, that reluctantly let go of the branches and falls to the ground. Not heavy as for snow which been around for weeks.
No, it’s the dust of snow that falls as in the poem by Robert Frost.
Winter came down to our home one night
Quietly pirouetting in on silvery-toed slippers of snow,
And we, we were children once again.
Bill Morgan, Jr.
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.
Patricia Hampl
Go to the winter woods: listen there, look, watch, and “the dead months” will give you a subtler secret than any you have yet found in the forest.
Fiona Macleod, Where the Forest Murmurs
The door was shut, as doors should be,
Before you went to bed last night;
Yet Jack Frost has got in, you see,
And left your window silver white.
He must have waited till you slept;
And not a single word he spoke,
But pencilled o’er the panes and crept
Away again before you woke…
Gabriel Setoun, Jack Frost
Snow provokes responses that reach right back to childhood.
Andy Goldsworthy
It snowed last year too: I made a snowman and my brother knocked it down and I knocked my brother down and then we had tea.
Dylan Thomas, A Child’s Christmas in Wales
Being inspired of the snow outside I found a winter motive along the mill river.
If snow melts down to water, does it still remember being snow?
Jennifer McMahon, The Winter People
A part of the Mill River, Ravnholm, Denmark.
A walk in The Danish Switzerland.
A nick name for the hilly woods in Ravnholm.
“Snow was falling,
so much like stars
filling the dark trees
that one could easily imagine
its reason for being was nothing more
than prettiness.”
Mary Oliver
HANNA'S WALK 
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