Current scene out the window. The snow is really coming down, though I don't think we will have much accumulation here. It's a balmy 11°. That temp doesn't reflect the wind chill factor. Br-r.
My eldest and his wife had an early a.m. flight to the Virgin Islands where they will be helping rebuild on St. John after Hurricanes Irma and Maria. Doug has been anxious to get there since last fall. I'm glad he's finally going to have the opportunity to help. I know a lot has already been done but still much left to do before it looks like their time there last April.
I've used part of this poem before, but thought of it again on this snowy morning:
Snow-flakes
by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
"Out of the bosom of the air,
Out of the cloud-folds of her garments shaken,
Over the woodlands brown and bare,
Over the harvest fields forsaken,
Silent and soft and slow
Descends the snow.
Even as our cloudy fancies take
Suddenly shape in some divine expression,
Even as the troubled heart doth make
In the white countenance confession,
The troubled sky reveals
The grief it feels.
This is the poem of the air,
Slowly in silent syllables recorded;
This is the secret of despair,
Long in its cloudy bosom hoarded,
Now whispered and revealed
To wood and field."
I'm glad Doug and Shelly are on their trip, too. He's been so anxious about things there. I hope being on the scene and pitching in helps him feel better.
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