Warm, safe, snowed in

With no wind blowing
It sifts gently down,
Enclosing my world in
A cool white down,
A tenderness of snowing.

It falls and falls like sleep
Till wakeful eyes can close
On all the waste and loss
As peace comes in and flows,
Snow-dreaming what I keep.

Silence assumes the air
And the five senses all
Are wafted on the fall
To somewhere magical
Beyond hope and despair.

There is nothing to do
But drift now, more or less
On some great lovingness,
On something that does bless,
The silent, tender snow.

May Sarton, 'Snow Fall'

I love seeing my 19th-century neighborhood with no cars in it. :)

 

{Poem from The Writer's Almanac - I saved it, just in case. :) 
The painting is House in Winter, by Gustave Loiseau, found here.}