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,
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.
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.