A sudden shaft of sunlight crossed my window, and with it a sense of the passing of the storm.
and retrieved my wet gloves, and damp hat, to see what the world was presently doing. There was a pointillist whisper in the air, like and yet quite the opposite of snow or sleet falling , rather the sound of snow and sleet vanishing. Already the trees and shrubs had shaken off much of them, and the perpetual rustling of snow flakes or sleet en route to oblivion was accompanied through my walk by the occasional sound of sliding , and a muffled crash--snow dislodged from a treetop to the ground below.
Color had come into its realm again, though at first less seen than felt..
The sunlight raked the snowdrifts, and in them I could discern the faintest, most minuscule admixture of gold.
strictures of the snow.
|The sky had become blue again, and was crossed by a cloud which seemed innocently unaware of the previous tempest.|
Shadows re-appeared, and I realized that they had been entirely absent during the louring weather.
The waters of the pond seemed almost granular.
sunlight rakes surfaces, until at last my damp boots became thoroughly wet, the cuffs of my trousers also.
|By then, I had gone around the pond. The sun was going down.|