First Snowfall

Announced by all the trumpets of the sky,
arrives the snow….

from The Snow Storm by Ralph Waldo Emerson

A Sunday Silence

“I like the silence of a church, before the service begins better than any preaching.”

~Ralph Waldo Emerson

“To the attentive eye….”

By Ralph Waldo Emerson:

“To the attentive eye, each moment of the year has its own beauty, and in the same field, it beholds, every hour, a picture which was never seen before and which shall never be seen again.” 

Finding the Beautiful…

“Though we travel the world over to find the beautiful,

we must carry it with us or we find it not.”

– Quotation by Ralph Waldo Emerson

Speaking of wine…

“A man will be eloquent if you give him good wine.”

~ Ralph Waldo Emerson

 

“Wine is the most civilized thing in the world.”

~ Ernest Hemingway

Ralph Waldo Emerson

I love this quote by Emerson:

 

“I wish that life should not be cheap, but sacred.

I wish the days to be as centuries, loaded, fragrant.” 

 

Today, I noticed that the red shoots of the peonies have emerged from their winter sleep.

There’s nothing more fragrant than a peony. 

It’s snowing!

“Announced by all the trumpets of the sky….
arrives the snow….”

Ralph Waldo Emerson

  From www.bartleby.com

Edmund Clarence Stedman, ed. (1833–1908).   An American Anthology, 1787–1900

The Snow-Storm

By Ralph Waldo Emerson

ANNOUNCED by all the trumpets of the sky, Arrives the snow, and, driving o’er the fields, Seems nowhere to alight: the whited air Hides hills and woods, the river, and the heaven, And veils the farm-house at the garden’s end.         5 The sled and traveller stopped, the courier’s feet Delayed, all friends shut out, the housemates sit Around the radiant fireplace, enclosed In a tumultuous privacy of storm.     Come see the north wind’s masonry.         10 Out of an unseen quarry evermore Furnished with tile, the fierce artificer Curves his white bastions with projected roof Round every windward stake, or tree, or door. Speeding, the myriad-handed, his wild work         15 So fanciful, so savage, naught cares he For number or proportion. Mockingly, On coop or kennel he hangs Parian wreaths; A swan-like form invests the hidden thorn; Fills up the farmer’s lane from wall to wall,         20 Maugre the farmer’s sighs; and at the gate A tapering turret overtops the work. And when his hours are numbered, and the world Is all his own, retiring, as he were not, Leaves, when the sun appears, astonished Art         25 To mimic in slow structures, stone by stone, Built in an age, the mad wind’s night-work, The frolic architecture of the snow.