The cold was our pride, the snow was our beauty. It fell and fell,
lacing day and night together in a milky haze, making everything quieter as it fell…
— Patricia Hampl, 1981
Nature chose for a tool, not the earthquake or lightning to rend
and split asunder, not the stormy torrent or eroding rain, but the tender snow-flowers
noiselessly falling through unnumbered centuries.
— John Muir