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Fresh Snow... 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... Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
“beneath the dusting of soft snow there is a summer waiting to be born, a season of sun-kissed shoulders and rodeo queens, of campfires, and rivers, and barn swallows dancing at twilight...” ― Kate Mullane Robertson
We were younger, happier and foolish. We should allow ourselves more often to break free from our adult chains and get back to our teenage light-heartedness. Start with a snowball fight next winter season ;)