Then I gave myself up to the pleasure and beauty of it.

I could only faintly discern the dim trees; the limbs of the spruce, which partially protected me, sagged down to my head with their burden; I had but to reach out my hand for a snowball.

Both the wind and snow seemed warm.

The great flakes were like swan feathers on a summer breeze.

There was something joyous in the whirl of snow and roar of wind.