Late Snow ~ February 26

Fir Bough Out My Bedroom Window

I watched the fat rain come down last night but sure did not expect to find a snowy morning. Not that I mind. I have a peaceful association in the reflected light off the snow that brightens an overcast winter day.

An excerpt from The Four Seasons of the Year
by the first American Poet, Anne Bradstreet (1612-1672)

Moist snowie February is my last,

I care not how the winter time doth haste,

In Pisces now the golden Sun doth shine,

And Northward still approaches to the Line,

The Rivers 'gin to ope, the snows to melt,

And some warm glances from his face are felt;

Which is increased by the lengthen'd day,

Until by's heat, he drive all cold away