Light snow wafting through the air and painting frost art on the trees makes me bubble up with excitement. The quiet and beauty of a new snow can bring delight to my heart.
Snow means cuddling up inside with my George Winston, December, softly filling the room with piano celebration of the season.
Hot tea and hot chocolate will be continuously simmering in the kitchen.
Something warm and sweet will come out of the oven–7 layer bars or butterscotch oatmeal cookies.
Light dancing on the walls from the fireplace glow and shadows will draw everyone to the hearth.
And so snow gives me another day to celebrate and make our little haven a place of friendship shared, love poured out, conversations bubbling and books and magazines being consumed by our firelight reverie.
And it always brings to mind the poem I would read to the children when they were small, and eventually it was seared into each mind so that they all repeat the lines when we talk of the beauty of our snowland.
Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening
Whose woods these are I think I know.
His house is in the village, though;
He will not see me stopping here
To watch his woods fill up with snow.
My little horse must think it queer
To stop without a farmhouse near
Between the woods and frozen lake
The darkest evening of the year.
He gives his harness bells a shake
To ask if there is some mistake.
The only other sound’s the sweep
Of easy wind and downy flake.
The woods are lovely, dark, and deep,
But I have promises to keep,
And miles to go before I sleep,
And miles to go before I sleep.