The Pleading of the Summer - That other Prank - of Snow - That Cushions Mystery with Tulle, For fear the Squirrels - know.
A winter without snow seems depressing, lacking.
Now that our sexual experience is increasingly available to us as a subject for contemplation, we have to extend our language to express our new consciousness until we have as many words for sexuality as the Eskimo has for snow, that pervasive, beautiful, and mortal climate in which we all live.
Every one who repeats it adds something to the scandal. [The rolling snow-ball. ]
On Linden, when the sun was low, All bloodless lay the untrodden snow, And dark as winter was the flow Of Iser, rolling rapidly.
I am younger each year at the first snow.
We just lay on our bellies in the snow, gasping and immobile.
When it snows in your nose, you catch cold in your brain.
Green grass breaks through snow, Artemis pleads for my help, I am so cool.
The essence of a sculpture must enter on tip-toe, as light as animal footprints on snow.
My goodness, that wee ball's gone so high there'll be snow on it when it comes down.
If you can't stand the heat, then move to Minnesota. They have snow in May.
It was evening all afternoon. It was snowing And it was going to snow. The blackbird sat In the cedar-limbs.
You write your name in the snow Yet say nothing.
You're mine," she whispered. "Mine, as I'm yours. And if we die, we die. All men must die, Jon Snow. But first, we'll live.
I didn't see painters doing paintings of glassware and glass shelves or sand dunes and receding snow fences. Why does that interest photographers and not artists?
I know what it's like to live in a cold climate. I grew up in the Snow Belt, north of Toronto in Canada, and I did years and years of running outside.
From the gardener's point of view, November can be the worst month to be faced: Nature is winding things down, the air is cold, skies are gray, but usually the final mark of punctuation to the year as yet to arrive - the snow; snow that covers all in the garden and marks a mind-set for the end of a year's activity. There is little to do outside except to wait for longer days in the new year and the joys of coming holidays.
50 Words of Snow just didn't seem to have the complications that quite a lot of albums have. It felt to me like it had this very good flow of energy.
I am still learning about love. I thought I understood it--not just mother love, but the love for one's parents, for one's husband, and for one's laotong. I've experienced the other types of love--pity love, respectful love and gratitude love. But looking at our secret fan with its messages written between Snow Flower and me over many years, I see that I didn't value the most important love--deep-heart love.
