It sifts from leaden sieves, it powders all the wood,
It fills with alabaster wool the wrinkles of the road.
It makes an even face of mountain and of plain, —
Unbroken forehead from the east unto the east again.
It reaches to the fence, it wraps it, rail by rail,
'Till it is lost in fleeces; it flings a crystal veil....
-Emily Dickinson
This is the most snow New England has received from a single snowstorm since I was in Seminary thirty five years ago!
