It’s snowing today, as I look out my window and write this, and I’m reminded of the beautiful poem “Snowflakes” by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow. The first verse goes like this:
Out of the bosom of the Air,
Out of the cloud-folds of her garments shaken,
Over the woodlands brown and bare,
Over the harvest-fields forsaken,
Silent, and soft, and slow
Descends the snow.
Now the poem goes on from there to become rather dark (“This is the secret of despair/Long in its cloudy bosom hoarded”) but I have always so loved that first stanza; to me it just evokes the very essence of the peaceful silence of winter snowfall, and I have taken solace many times in the last two lines:
Silent, and soft, and slow
Descends the snow.
That’s how I feel this morning, warm in my kitchen, hot coffee-mug in hand, watching the flakes drift down.
I love the snow, it makes everything looks so nice, clean and beautiful.
Always prefered the snow to Rain.
Both turns into ice eventually anyway, might as well have some realaxing views to the snow =)
There is something so comforting and calming about snow.