The snow still falls lavishly, and the whole tree is at length buried, to sleep and rest in its beautiful grave as though dead.

Entire groves of young trees, from ten to forty feet high, are thus buried every winter like slender grasses.

But, like the violets and daisies which the heaviest snows crush not, they are safe.

It is as though this were only Nature's method of putting her darlings to sleep instead of leaving them exposed to the biting storms of winter.
Thus warmly wrapped they await the summer resurrection.

The snow becomes soft in the sunshine, and freezes at night, making the mass hard and compact, like ice, so that during the months of April and May you can ride a horse over the prostrate groves without catching sight of a single leaf.