Winter and Snow: Quotes and Poems

Record low temperatures, record snow fall- What an unusual, amazing, and unfortunately dangerous winter. Some of us never expected this at all, many did not welcome it, and even those who might usually enjoy the snow are so OVER it- sick of the cold, the snow, the ice and the hassle of it all! Actually, even though I am inspired by winter and snow, I’m ready for a change too. It will be nice to have warm weather again, to be able to simply walk out of the house without having to scrape and dig and protect myself form the elements!

Winter Is Here

Winter Is Here

Farewell Winter, farewell Snow. You’ve had your turn.
And as a parting gift- a collection of words and imagery inspired by you both, Winter and Snow.

I wonder if the snow loves the trees and fields that it kisses them so gently? And then it covers them up snug, you know, with a white quilt, and perhaps it says “Go to sleep, darlings, until the summer comes again.”
Lewis Carroll

As with a plant in winter, it is a time for inwardness, anticipation, and enriching the roots upon which the plant will rely for future growth.
Kristen Wolf, The Way

Winter is the time for comfort, for good food and warmth, for the touch of a friendly hand and for a talk beside the fire: it is the time for home.
Edith Sitwell

Surely everyone is aware of the divine pleasures which attend a wintry fireside . . .
Thomas De Quincey

And then there is the snow that begins to fall in fat, cheerful flakes . . .
Home is where you need to be, and this snow will take you there.
And it will say that it is all right to be happy.
Cynthia Rylant, Snow

The snow doesn’t fall. It may ride the wind. It may descend slowly, in utter quiet, from the grey and laden clouds, so that you can hear the flakes touching lightly on the wide white waste, as they come to rest at the end of their flight. Flight – that’s the word. They beat in the air like wings, as if reluctant ever to touch the ground. I have observed them coming down, on a very cold day, near its end when the sky above me was still blue, in flakes great and wide as the palm of my hand. They were like immense moths winging down in the twilight, making the silence about me visible.
Howard O’Hagan, Tay John

the time it takes-
for snowflakes to whiten
the distant pines
Lorraine Ellis Harr

Soft as the fall of a beautiful thought                        snow
or a leaf on a stream
White as the robe by purity wrought,
Bright as the flow of a dream.
Calm as a sleeping baby’s breath,
Falleth in many a graceful wreath,
Gently, the beautiful snow
Mary T. Lathrap, Snow

She went to the window. A fine sheen of sugary frost covered everything in sight, and white smoke rose from chimneys in the valley below the resort town.
She stuck her head out and took a deep breath. If she could eat the cold air, she would. She thought cold snaps were like cookies, like gingersnaps. In her mind they were made with white chocolate chunks and had a cool, brittle vanilla frosting. They melted like snow in her mouth, turning creamy and warm.
Sarah Addison Allen, The Sugar Queen

She was born with winter already in her bones . . .
Kate Atkinson, Life After Life

When Josey woke up and saw the feathery frost on her windowpane, she smiled.  Finally, it was cold enough to wear long coats and tights.  It was cold enough for scarves and shirts worn in layers, like camouflage.  It was cold enough for her lucky red cardigan, which she swore had a power of its own.  She loved this time of year.  Summer was tedious with the light dresses she pretended to be comfortable in while secretly sure she looked like a loaf of white bread wearing a belt.  The cold was such a relief.
Sarah Addison Allen, The Sugar Queen

Winter came again. She recognized it from the first time around.
Kate Atkinson, Life After Life

Snow flurries began to fall and they swirled around people’s legs like house cats. It was magical, this snow globe world.
Sarah Addison Allen, The Sugar Queen

It’s fully winter now. There’s a rim of ice on our well that I have to crack with a bucket. Each time I open the metal flap to the outside, I get blasted by cold. . . afterward I spend several minutes before the fire just to get color back in my hands. This time of year, it’s too cold to snow. High winter out-of-doors is death as sure as a knife in the chest . . . I thought I knew winter, but from inside this tower I’ve learned something new- the winter wind has its own voice. . . The winter wind screeches around the tower, singing the high harmony, its voice sharp with ice.
Shannon Hale, Book of a Thousand Days

Snow Tower

Snow Tower


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