I t’s mine, I think–
and the snow seems lighter
on my straw hat.
—Takarai Kikaku, “Winter”
“Snow is white and gray, part and whole, infinitely various yet infinitely repetitious, soft and hard, frozen and melting, a creaking underfoot and a soundlessness. But first of all it is the reversion of many into one. It is substance, almost the idea of substance, that turns grass, driveway, hayfield, old garden, log pile, Saab, watering trough, collapsed barn, and stonewall into the one white.”
—Donald Hall, Seasons at Eagle Pond