and feather soft,
falling from the heaven's loft,
ice cream cold,
and turtle slow-
I wrote that as a child while staring out my bedroom window. I can still picture my small self huddled against the cold sill, watching the flakes drift lazily down, listening to the small splats as they hit the window and trying to capture just what I was seeing.
I've always loved snow, though as I grew older and had to drive in it, I looked less forward to hard snowfalls. When we lived in northern Vermont, land of continuous hills, driving took a treacherous turn.
This morning I am snug in my cottage. Snow has been falling fairly steadily since yesterday morning. There's about a foot on the ground. Every branch and limb is frosted, every rooftop piled high, every fence rail outlined against the white. I've shopping to do and some other errands but perhaps I will put them off until tomorrow. My showshoes are waiting in the garage and the woods beckon.