Thoreau for an icy Tuesday…

The wind has gently murmured through the blinds,or puffed with feathery softness against the windows,and occasionally sighed like a summer zephyr lifting the leaves along, the livelong night…The earth itself has slept, as it were its first,not its last sleep….But while the earth has slumbered ,all the air has been alive with feathery flakes descending,as if some northern Ceres resigned,showering her silvery grain over all the fields.We sleep,and  at length awake to the still reality of a  winter morning.The snow lies warm as cotton or down upon the window-sill;the broadened sash and frosted panes admit a dim light, which enhances the snug cheer within.The stillness of the morning is impressive.

From:”A Winter Walk”(The Essays) 1843.




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