john greenleaf whittier: snow bound

mid afternoon and it's snowing outside . . . a couple of days ago i waited for the sun to set so that i could see what might happen when its last rays washed over a little patch of snow and ice . . . .
it looks like ice cream . . .

here’s an excerpt from a poem entitled “snow bound” by the american poet john greenleaf whittier.
whittier was born on december 17, 1807, in haverhill, massachusetts. the son of two devout quakers, he grew up on the family farm and had little formal schooling. his unabashedly romantic depiction of a snowy evening, and the building of a fire warms my heart. something i value as i listen to the wind whistling by outside.

as night drew on, and, from the crest
of wooded knolls that ridged the west,
the sun, a snow-blown traveller, sank
from sight beneath the smothering bank,
we piled, with care, our nightly stack
of wood against the chimney-back,--
the oaken log, green, huge, and thick,
and on its top the stout back-stick;
the knotty forestick laid apart,
and filled between with curious art
the ragged brush; then, hovering near,
we watched the first red blaze appear,
heard the sharp crackle, caught the gleam
on whitewashed wall and sagging beam,
until the old, rude-furnished room
burst, flower-like, into rosy bloom;
while radiant with a mimic flame
outside the sparkling drift became,
and through the bare-boughed lilac-tree
our own warm hearth seemed blazing free.