Snow

It is snowing here today. When it snows, I always murmur Wallace Stevens to myself, the end of 13 Ways of Looking at a Blackbird:
It was evening all afternoon.
It was snowing
And it was going to snow.
It's the perfect way of describing our sense of expectation and dullness, the white cloak that snow draws over the world, and underneath it we see less and less until complete darkness sets in and we can't tell if the snow is still falling or not. It's an endless, quiet, present.