Essay A Winter Snow

Edwin Fiske’s first memory of snow happened when he was a young boy, perhaps four or five-years-old. He was spending wintertime at his Grandma Cookie’s house with his mom in Springfield, Ohio. It was morning and everybody was awake, yet it was dark outside because the snow would pile high up and block out the windows. “Why is it dark?” a puzzled Edwin asked his grandmother. “Because it’s wintertime!” she responded. The snow towered over him as they all went outside to get into the car that was also buried in snow. My grandpa believes this memory stuck with him because it was his first impression of how deep, dark, and cold snow can be.

Three days earlier on a wintery morning. I walked out of my warm apartment, as the cold breeze instantly smacked me in the face, even with my woolly, Christmas themed sweater and thick, quilted coat I was still cold. The sky was washed with grey clouds, as the ground was covered in crisp, white snow. The wind whooshed and whistled past my ears giving me the shivers; I quickly ran through the deep,

"Do you ever see yourself, fantasizing, about snow?" She asked, unaware of the ignorance, that seemed to protrude, across her face. "We live in Texas, obviously." I snickered, as she shot me a look of annoyance, "I know." She began as she rolled her eyes, "To better explain it, have you forgotten the feeling of snow, not your mind, but your body, the feeling of it laying in your hands."

The atmosphere is gray and white. When we do get snow, the woods look so pure and majestic that you would think that you were dreaming. The blanket of white in the trees and on the grass brings me vivid memories. The winter of 2009 was the year a snow storm pelted our humble town. Twelve inches of snow covered every object in the path of the merciless storm. One of my best friends, Chandler, and I went snow sledding in the midst of the woods. The laughter and joy I experienced that winter will carry with me as long as I live. The cold blushed my cheeks and turned my face a bright red. I closed my eyes and pushed off from the top of the hill. The sled accelerated down the winter wonderland. The sled eventually came to a halt. My family and friends were laughing as I crashed into a bush down below the next time I went. After picking myself up, I was laughing hysterically. We each took turns on the natural roller

This reflection is about Archibald Lampman’s poem called SNOW. Archibald Lampman was born on November 17, 1861 in Morpeth, Canada, and he passed away on February 10, 1899 in Ottawa, Canada (Encyclopedia Britannica). The event in the poem takes place in the late 1800’s in a rural area of canada, during the winter time. In the poem Archibald Lampman does an outstanding job of using the imagery of nature, and in particular snow to make us feel as if we are experiencing these sensations with him.. He describes the color of snow, the sound as snow hits the ground, and the feeling of being surrounded by snow.

The fountain is frozen and icicles hang from the rooftop. The grass is bright white, covered in ice crystals. The sidewalks are frozen and the cars look like monstrous marshmallows. The entire family gathers for breakfast in the Mess Hall, which is an enormous room with a table shaped like a horseshoe and over two dozen chairs. Mounted deer hang on the wall, too numerous to count. A chandelier made of antlers hangs down in the center of the room. People gather around the burning fireplace for warmth. I hear pots and pans clanking together; I can smell the bacon and biscuits cooking to perfection. The smell of the brewing coffee engulfs the room. After breakfast, the kids go to our cabins and find the warmest clothes we can. We walk out the Mess Hall and everything we see is frozen. These polar temperatures are just like the ones when our family went skiing. We drove eighteen hours up to Wintergreen, Virginia for a ski trip with our cousins from North Carolina. Since it was our first time skiing, it took some practice and falling on our faces before we got the hang of it. Every night after the slopes closed, my cousins, my two sisters, and I brought sleds onto the slope and slid down part of the mountain. I can feel the arctic temperatures blowing on my face. My ears and nose turn shades of red and blue. My vision is blinded by snowflakes falling in my face. I cannot see where I am going until I hit a fence face first. I suddenly feel

It was a cold winter day, when the grass was buried under a blanket of snow, all the trees were decorated with natural crystal ornaments and the lakes were hidden under a sheet of ice. Mom had gone over to Dad’s apartment to work on their research paper on Germany’s role during the Holocaust. It was getting late and the roads were blocked due to the blizzard that happened the day before. Mom called Nana telling her that she would stay at Dad’s until the roads opened.

The first snowfall of the year had finally arrived one late November night, blanketing the small cabin and surrounding forest with fresh, powdery snow. The wind howled through the leafless trees, often relieving the weighed down branches of their snowy burden. The smooth and unblemished snow coated everything, leaving the road to the cabin indistinguishable from the surrounding terrain.

As I drive up the slight slope of a hill, I stare in wonder at the fresh snowfall on the ground and trees. On the short walk to the lake, I look at all of the ice crystals glistening from the glares of the sun. Families surround me, and all I hear are kids giggling. As I get

A soft blanket of snow fills the road like an artist preparing a fresh canvas waiting for imagination to flow from his paint brush. Laughter fills the path as a group of children walk home from school. One of the children’s names was Catherine. She was basking in all the wonderful wintry-wonderland scenery. Instantly her feelings of awe and amazement were replaced by fear, replaced by petrifying fear, they were replaced by really, really, really petrifying fear. In the woods, a dark figure loomed about and then vanished. Alarmed, she pointed to where the dark figure was before it vanished. Almost at once she asked herself was this real or just a figment of her imagination? You decide.

She was eight years old, and it barely began getting crispy outside. Winter was right around the corner. She loved winter, the cold weather always made her all lubricous. Her favorite part of winter was eating cold food and wrapping herself around him while he was cold. She always thought cold items and food were the best in cold weather and having the air in front of her while it was cold just made it so fun. Unfortunately she wasn’t enjoying this upcoming winter without him.

As the frost crept up my window, each snowflake was perfectly plastered in front of me. They seemed as if they were putting on a show just for me, and I couldn’t help but imagine that there were tiny people living in each one. The soft hum of my mother’s CD’s played in the background as my little brother was fast asleep to my right. I brushed my fingers through my dolls knotted hair, feeling the itchy yarn envelope each finger. Looking out the window again all I saw were cars speeding past us, all rushing to get to their own winter plans.

The condensed snow under my feet was crushed with every step. The snow was around four inches deep, my boots made a large enough indent, that I made a noticeable trail of holes with every step. The sun had vanished behind a mountain, the sky’s light had gone from an amiable orange, to a mellow blue. I could see outline of the moon between two clouds, and the air’s bite grew colder by the moment. I had taken a detour, past a thin slice of trees near to my neighborhood. Even for a forest, it was a cold, silent place. I used to come out to places like this as a kid, quiet places where I would sit and be alone for hours. I guess I forgot how often that was, but for the moment, I had something else to worry about.

As often happens in Ohio, the weather had been up and down in temperature all week and what had been snow melted and re-froze multiple times, creating a slippery path to the building. Looking down at the ground as I walked I did my best to miss the icy patches that were steadily being covered by the light dusting of snow as it continued to fall. Halfway to the door and nearly under the protection of the entryway- which is covered by a roof- I looked up. But then suddenly instead of seeing the front door, welcoming me with the inside light which from the cold, dark morning looked like the golden sun in the distance; I

It was a frigid day in December. I wore so many clothes that I looked like a penguin. Every breath I took makes a small cloud and scattered. The gloves I worn seemed to be mildness like paws. The buildings behind me were covered by the thick snow. The wall became more brick-red because of the spotless white snow. Some snowflakes drift down on my hair gently. The snow was heavy, but not much wind. My friends bounced from worm house and laughed to me. “We should build a snowman. The snow is heavy enough.” One of my friends advised. We all cheered and started to pile the snow together.