(no subject)
The silence was startling as I left College Hall this afternoon; a typical schoolday on campus, young women in brightly colored coats walking along in small groups, or rushing with bowed heads in weaving patterns between their slower peers. Yet the only sound was the whirring of the electricity from the college art museum behind me.
It was a pristine silence, fitting somehow for the sparkling snow that lies serenely, a half-meter deep, along the paths.
There is an old beech on the lawn, and when I turned to look at it from the north, it shone, bright with reflected sunlight, it's branches outstretched in august benediction.
The sun flashed blindingly for one moment before it disappeared behind Chapin house.
The sky is very blue; there isn't a cloud in it.
When the moon grows paler and the wind lies low/Is the end of the winter near?/When the moon turns golden on a blue, blue sea/Will there yet be a morning tear?/Can you hear the voice of spring, gentle spring/As the soaring wind suddenly is still?/And the sun at sunrise fills the world with joy/As it warms winter's melancholy chill... - from "Gaelic Song"