Snow is a bit of a novelty for those of us who live in more Southerly climes. So it was with a child-like wonder that we woke to ice and snow coating every branch and twig this morning. The garden seemed full of ice sculptures and the gentle quiet of the snow still falling felt magical.
And unbidden, a poem came into my mind that I had learnt at junior school in the UK, "Snow" by Walter de la Mare:
No breath of wind, no gleam of sun –
Still the white snow whirls softly down.
Twig and bough and blade and thorn
All in an icy quiet, forlorn.
Whispering, rustling, through the air
On sill and stone roof — everywhere,
It heaps its powdery crystal flakes,
Of every tree a mountain makes;
‘Til pale and faint at shut of day
Stoops from the West one wint’ry ray,
And, feathered in fire where ghosts the moon,
A robin shrills his lonely tune;
And from her dark-gnarled Yew-tree lair
Flits she who had been in hiding there.
Happy Winter Knitting!
Last Blogpost: Snow gently falling
Our book: Reversible Knitting Stitches
Many thanks to my DH, Tim, for his photos which so beautifully captured the day. If you would like to see more of his photos please visit his Instagram page.
. 2/3/18 E