Are ye the ghosts of fallen leaves, O flakes of snow, For which, through naked trees, the winds A-mourning go?

Never Forget Who You Are Beacause Its Like Forgetingg Water Is Wet,The Sun Is Bright,Snow Is Cold.Its Rudunent.

Three scents accompany my memories of this place: cut wood, poppy-seed bread, and the soft, crisp smell of snow.

...dark furrow lines grid the snow, punctuated by orange abacus beads of pumpkins - now the crows own the field...

...I hardly ever see your profile, but have I told you it's beautiful? - like the soft gentle lines of snow...

The wind crooned softly as it dusted the snow against the windows, wrapping them in a thick and fluffy cotton blanket.

She was the most beautiful thing I had ever seen, a tiny, bloody angel in the snow, and they were going to destroy her.

I've always felt lucky to live someplace where snow is rare, you know? It's rareness that makes it so speacial.

Life and summer are fleeting,’ sang the bird. ‘Snow and dark, and the winter comes. Nothing remains the same.

I love you because no two snowflakes are alike, and it is possible, if you stand tippy-toe, to walk between the raindrops.

Every Autumn now my thoughts return to snow. Snow is something I identify myself with. Like my father, I am a snow person.

It snowed last year too: I made a snowman and my brother knocked it down and I knocked my brother down and then we had tea.

Winter invites white; white invites silence; silence invites peace. You see, there is so much peace in walking on the snow!

Love is life's snow. It falls deepest and softest into the gashes left by the fight - whiter and purer than snow itself.

Shards flew everywhere, slicing her hands, her forearm, and cascading to the floor like snow glistening on a winter morning.