A summer breeze is much better than a winter chill.

Soft as the fall of a beautiful thought,
Or a leaf on the stream,
White as the robe by purity wrought,
Bright as the flow of a dream.
Calm as a sleeping infant's breath,
Cold as the brow just touched by death,
Falleth in many a graceful wreath
Gently, the beautiful snow.

Caught like a robe on the leafless trees,
With diamonds in every fold;
Stepping like sprites where the fallen leaves
Mingle their brown and gold.
Covering over the graves of the flowers,
And those other graves where gems of ours
We laid away in summer hours,
Now resteth the gentle snow.

Falling to gladden the hearts of some,
With the joys it has in store;
Falling to chill, in the hovel home,
The souls of the suffering poor.
Melting to pearls on the brow of the glad,
Melting to tears on the cheek of the sad,
What gladdens the one, drives the other mad,
Oh! coldly beautiful snow.

Bright as the clouds where the sun goes down,
Is thy fall to the happy heart;
Cold as the world with its bitter frown,
To the child of woe thou art.
But if thy coming shall cheer or chill,
One hand yet gathers the winds at will,
And the eye of the Sleepless is watching still,
In pity, O, pitiless snow!

(Poem by Mary T. Lathrap. 1838-1895.)


Ah, snow. A product of Father Winter's chilling weather. Or, you know, rain that is too cold to be in the form of water. I'm sure the first one sounds way more deep, though. So we can stick with that.

Not to disrespect the corpse of Mary T. Lathrap, but I personally hate snow. The only thing I like about snow at this point is that it is a reason to get out of school. However, we have missed too much school and I personally don't want to still be attending school in June, when we usually get off in mid-May. Besides, it is Thursday! If this storm keeps up, I won't have much of a weekend. Why, snow? Why? Why must you make your grand entrance on a Thursday night intead of a Monday morning? Ah.

Oh yes, I forgot to mention. My hometown is getting pounded with snow and winter warnings right now. I am hoping that this is not a replica of the midwest's mighty blizzard in January. According to the weathergirl (yes, weathergirl) on channel 8, it won't be. I'm hoping she is right, but she's been wrong before. Those shifty weatherpeople can't always be trusted.

So as this snowstorm whites out the view beyond my window, I sit here at the computer (thankful that the power hasn't gone out and doesn't show any signs of doing so) and type. Between paragraphs I take time to text back my boyfriend, look over to the livingroom where some happy woman is winning some extra spending money on Wheel of Fortune on our television, and sniff the air to get a whiff of my requested dinner being cooked (biscuits and gravy, for I frequently enjoy having breakfast for dinner). Mmmm...smells pretty good.

I find it slightly funny that as soon as I typed those last few words, I was called for dinner. Not formally, of course. At my house being called for dinner means someone yells, "Food's ready!" But anyway, this has been yelled, in addition to my mother saying, "Katie. Go eat."

So I again say farewell and I will leave you with this advice: Don't eat the yellow snow.

Hugs and Peace Signs,
Katie