By Ralph Waldo Emerson
Announced by all the trumpets of the sky,
Arrives the snow, and, driving o'er the fields,
Seems nowhere to alight: the whited air
Hides hills and woods, the river, and the heaven,
And veils the farm-house at the garden's end.
The sled and traveller stopped, the courier's feet
Delayed, all friends shut out, the housemates sit
Around the radiant fireplace, enclosed
In a tumultuous privacy of storm.
Come see the north wind's masonry.
Out of an unseen quarry evermore
Furnished with tile, the fierce artificer
Curves his white bastions with projected roof
Round every windward stake, or tree, or door.
Speeding, the myriad-handed, his wild work
So fanciful, so savage, nought cares he
For number or proportion. Mockingly,
On coop or kennel he hangs Parian wreaths;
A swan-like form invests the hidden thorn;
Fills up the farmer's lane from wall to wall,
Maugre the farmer's sighs; and, at the gate,
A tapering turret overtops the work.
And when his hours are numbered, and the world
Is all his own, retiring, as he were not,
Leaves, when the sun appears, astonished Art
To mimic in slow structures, stone by stone,
Built in an age, the mad wind's night-work,
The frolic architecture of the snow.
We got warnings all of Wednesday morning that we would have serious snow squalls arriving in the afternoon, possibly as early as 2 p.m., so I rushed through some work and went out to get various shopping chores done early (no way was I wasting my $30 in Kohl's bucks, and I got to see Washingtonian Lake frozen over, though I have no photos of it because I left my phone in the car and had to go all the way back to the parking lot to get it). The snow did not arrive till after 5 p.m. and we got very little accumulation, though it did come down hard and fast. We took a walk right in the thick of it and saw two deer munching the neighbors' plants without seeming to mind all the cold fluff on their backs.
We had leftover chili for dinner with the Hurricanes we didn't manage to get for Mardi Gras, so I was a bit tipsy while watching The 100, the greatest girl power show currently on TV (and I would like to note that it is fine with me if Abby and Marcus follow up all that hurt/comfort with some canoodling). I would probably enjoy The Americans more if I watched it drunk, since it is always very stressful even weeks like this when it's mostly about characters not the Cold War -- I often find myself yelling "DON'T DO IT, PHILIP" to the screen about something, usually though not always involving women. Here are a few more photos from the National Geographic Museum's global food exhibit: