Saturday, January 13, 2018

The Morning After a Snowy Night


 
There are few things in nature so rewarding as getting up in the morning after a shroud of snow fell during the night. This morning was no exception on Lily Rose Ranch.
 

 

A poem about snow by Emily Dickinson
 
It sifts from leaden sieves,
It powders all the wood,
It fills with alabaster wool
The wrinkles of the road.
 
 
It makes an even face
Of mountain and of plain, —
Unbroken forehead from the east
Unto the east again.
 
 
It reaches to the fence,
It wraps it, rail by rail,
Till it is lost in fleeces;
It flings a crystal veil
 
 
On stump and stack and stem, —
The summer’s empty room,
Acres of seams where harvests were,
Recordless, but for them.

 

Road through a snowy woods




The icing on a hay cake

Waiting to be fed


Cabin is a snowy woods

A shed at a frozen pond