Erased Boundaries

January 21, 2012

“The light died in the low clouds.  Falling snow drank in the dusk.  Shrouded in silence, the branches wrapped me in their peace.  When the boundaries were erased, once again the wonder:  that I exist.”
— Dag Hammarskjold, Markings

Ladder partially buried in the snow

Our snowfall softened edges, erased boundaries, and shrouded our world in whites and grays.  I love how these writers and poets capture the special beauty of this transformed world.

“The snow had begun in the gloaming,
And busily all the night
Had been heaping field and highway
with a silence deep and white.”
— James Russell Lowell, “The First Snow Fall”

“Snow is white and gray, part and whole, infinitely various yet infinitely repetitious, soft and hard, frozen and melting, a creaking underfoot and a soundlessness.  But first of all it is the reversion of many into one.  It is substance, almost the idea of substance, that turns grass, driveway, hayfield, old garden, log piles, Saab, watering trough, collapsed barn, and stonewall into the one white.”
— Donald Hall, Seasons at Eagle Pond

Snow patterns, in white, on the rooftops

Canopy of white over these snowy steps

Not a Saab, but another snow blanketed vehicle -- graced with a snowman