I loved to watch the gradual beginning of the storm through the frosted window. The snowdrops were not the big flakes, heavy with moisture, which melt as they touch the ground. These little snow-particles, which the storm-spirit flings by handfuls through the air, will bury the great earth under their accumulated mass, nor permit her to behold her sister sky again for dreary months. I was a South man. Often at that time I loved to sit near the fireplace and the muse always came to visit me… Read it till the end to know the story!
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