Snow

I simply wanted to note that it is snowing. It is lovely, fluffy snow, dusting the quiet campus grounds with another layer of fine sugar, healing the dirty scars of older snow. Naked tree branches are dark against the gray skies, and beautifully highlighted by a layer of bright new snow.

It’s been snowing a fair amount the past few weeks. My first class on many days is Russian Literature, and the best part of the day is perhaps trekking across campus in the dusky indigo of pre-dawn, the snow alighted softly on my coat, shoulder, hair, the winds kissing my cheeks with their icy lips, my fingers freezing delightfully as they stubbornly remain out in the open, protecting my lovely mug of hot tea from the wintry temperaments of the Midwestern plains. Oh, how vast the sky is!

Stars are fading as I settle on the comfortable coaches of the English building, beside great two-story window of the lobby. The indigo has paled into a softer blue as I open Pushkin’s delightful poems. I look out over gentle lolling hills of the far side of the campus, the gray trees marking their boundaries, and wonder at the vastness of the plains. I am facing east, and the pinks and golds hug the highest crest of the gentlest hill in the world, dressed as the glories of the gentle muses, heralding the shy but splendid morning sun.

Oh, God is so good!

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