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Hardy's poem Snow in the Suburbs captures vividly snowfall. The streets and pavements in Munich where we live were certainly 'mute'. The pictures were taken in the dawn light of a January morning.
Every branch big with it, Bent every twig with it; Every fork like a white web-foot; Every street and pavement mute: Some flakes have lost their way, and grope back upward when Meeting those meandering down they turn and descend again. The palings are glued together like a wall, And there is no waft of wind with the fleecy fall. A sparrow enters the tree, Whereon immediately A snow-lump thrice his own slight size Descends on him and showers his head and eye And overturns him, And near inurns him, And lights on a nether twig, when its brush Starts off a volley of other lodging lumps with a rush. The steps are a blanched slope, Up which, with feeble hope, A black cat comes, wide-eyed and thin; And we take him in.
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 After an eerily dry autumn, flowers and our magnolia tree almost brought to bud, a huge snowfall in the last two days reminded us that the Alps are not far away. Suddenly the light changes - everything is bright, pristine. Neighbours are out, united in a common purpose - clearing the snow from the footpath outside your house as German law requires. Kids go by pulled along by parents - off to a local park. Snowmen - or is it persons now? - appear in Gardens.
I love the seasons. |
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