Nashville isn't known for it's abundance of snow, but usually there will be a day or two where the town turns wintry white and looks like a frosty wonderland. I'm looking forward to bundling up my girls and letting them experience "real winter" for the first time in their lives.
On that note, a bit of beauty fell from the sky today, and led me to this poem by Longfellow that seemed fitting to share.
Yes, you might stick your tongue out at me for being a total word nerd, but that's okay. Today, a little snowflake might just land on that tongue. :)
By Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
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.
Even as our cloudy fancies take
Suddenly shape in some divine expression,
Even as the troubled heart doth make
In the white countenance confession,
The troubled sky reveals
The grief it feels.
This is the poem of the air,
Slowly in silent syllables recorded;
This is the secret of despair,
Long in its cloudy bosom hoarded,
Now whispered and revealed
To wood and field.