Snow-frosted branches
“Thick was the snow on field and hedge
And vanished was the river-sedge,
Where winter skilfully had wound
A shining scarf without a sound.”
— Charles Causley, “At Nine of the Night I Opened My Door”
“Snow
falls on snow —
silence.
— Santaka
The snow was beautiful while it lasted. A brief taste of “real” winter here in the rainy Pacific Northwest.
