found this little poem. hadn't read it before but it reminded me how, when I was a child, we'd press our noses on the house or car windows or "huff" on them to frost them over.
We'd get up in the mornings and there would be frost on the single-paned windows . . . until the sun got on it and melted Jack Frost's art work.
For, creeping softly underneath
The door when all the lights are out,
Jack Frost takes every breath you breathe,
And knows the things you dream about.
He paints them on the window-pane
In fairy lines with frozen steam.
And when you wake, you see again
The lovely things you saw in dream.
Gabriel Setoun
If we stay at III this weekend, maybe Jack Frost will visit. They are calling for 45 or 50 degree daytime highs so hopefully we are coming out of the deep freeze!
No comments:
Post a Comment