I know by now how tiresome snow is to many of you. Ten foot snow banks, minus zero degree wind chills, creeping insanity.
But here in the south, snow is unusual. Last night there was an absolute deluge, and when I opened my eyes this morning, the whole world was white and oh so silent.
It was thrilling, even if we had no power until late afternoon.
The old French garden table and chair which I somehow forgot are nearly buried under the heavy, wet stuff—certainly I won’t be sitting in that chair today. But that’s alright. Everything looks magical, from the frosted trees to the blanket of soft white snow covering the ground.
It’s a chilly vision that conjures up the phrase, “Pure as the driven…..”
Along the woodland path, one bare tree is bent low, its whip-like boughs heavily weighted with their icy burden.
In the pasture behind us, a tall ungainly cedar has bowed its feathery top nearly to the ground. No horses today: they are snug in their stalls.
By the drive, the magnolia grandiflora’s leaves are dripping snow like thick royal icing. Underneath, the evergreen leaves are shiny, but the fragrant ivory flowers that perfume nights with their lemon-like scent are months from making their debut.
Even the snow queen seems to be shivering. Heavy is her crown of snow and her chilly collar. Oh no! Is that a patch of frostbite on her neck?
It’s cold enough to make me dash inside to sit by the fire.
But there’s one creature who can’t get enough of the snow. He rolls in it, chomps it, and draws great mad circles, sending up glittering showers as he races through the woods.
Can you guess who?