Sunday, December 22, 2013

Country Diary of a Lady: 12/22/2013

The snow finally came last night.  A good several inches, piled high on branches and draped gently across the ground.  We sang our "snow song" this morning.

It goes: "It snowed last night, it snowed last night.  The Skybears had a pillow fight.  They tore up every cloud in sight and tossed down feathers snowy white."

The sun is out already, and the trees are shining in their icy dresses.  The stark lines of the leafless trees are given an even more striking appearance as the snow plied on them, giving the black and white shillouettes an even more striking appearance.  As we sat in church this morning, the Hymn "Morning Has Broken" popped into my head.

"Morning has broken, like the first morning,
Blackbird has spoken, like the first bird.
Praise for the singing, praise for the morning,
Praise for them springing fresh from the Word.

Sweet the rain's new fall, sunlight from heaven.
Like the first dewfall, on the first grass.
Praise for the sweetness of the wet garden,
Sprung in completeness where His feet pass.

Mine is the sunlight, mine is the morning.
Born of the one light Eden saw play.
Prause with elation, praise every morning;
God's recreation of the new day.

Morning has broken, like the first morning.
Blackbird has spoken, like the first bird.
Praise for the singing, praise for the morning,
Praise for them springing fresh from the Word."


"The more it snows (Tiddely pom),
The more it goes (Tiddely pom),
The more it goes (Tiddely pom),
On snowing. And nobody knows (Tiddely pom),
How cold my toes (Tiddely pom),
How cold my toes (Tiddely pom),
Are growing.
A. A. Milne 
The House at Pooh Corner"


“I wonder if the snow loves the trees and fields, that it kisses them so gently? And then it covers them up snug, you know, with a white quilt; and perhaps it says "Go to sleep, darlings, till the summer comes again.”
― Lewis CarrollAlice's Adventures in Wonderland & Through the Looking-Glass


“The Eskimo has fifty-names for snow because it is important to them; there ought to be as many for love.”
― Margaret Atwood

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