You have to feel the bite of the wind to appreciate the warmth of a winter coat.

Snake’s LullabyBrother, sister, flick your tongueand taste the flakes of autumn sun.Use these last few hours of goldto travel, travel toward the cold.Before your coils grow stiff and dull,your heartbeat slows to winter’s lull,seek the...

A cold wind was blowing from the north, and it made the trees rustle like living things.

What Do the Trees Know?What do the trees know? To bend when all the wild winds blow. Roots are deep and time is slow. All we grasp we must let go.What do the trees know?...

Big Brown MooseI’m a big brown moose,I’m a rascally moose,I’m a moose with a tough, shaggy hide;and I kick and I prancein a long-legged dancewith my moose-mama close by my side.I shrug off the coldand...

Dream of the Tundra SwanDusk felland the cold came creeping,cam prickling into our hearts.As we tucked beaksinto feathers and settled for sleep,our wings knew.That night, we dreamed the journey:ice-blue sky and the yodel of flight,the...

Well, you could rejuvenate a man like a tree. Cut off bad memories of him, scrape off all pain, all disappointments, like dead tissue; cut off mistakes, stupid decisions, mistakes, x-ray thoughts. And that it...

On harsh, frigid January days, when the winds are relentless and the snow piles up around us, I often think of our small feathered friends back on the Third Line. I wonder if the old...

I’m not sure.

I love you.”She lost all concept of time. She lost her place and surroundings. She couldn’t remember who he was—who she was. She lost her mind.

I put a basketball hoop in the trees, to help the squirrels and give them a nice net to store their nuts for the winter. But that’s just the kind of thoughtful guy I am.

Oh, how magical it will be to have winter come every year.

Are ye the ghosts of fallen leaves, O flakes of snow, For which, through naked trees, the winds A-mourning go?

A few feathery flakes are scattered widely through the air, and hover downward with uncertain flight, now almost alighting on the earth, now whirled again aloft into remote regions of the atmosphere.

Love for the beauty of the soul. I shall love you always. When the flower of life has gone, ever I shall find you. When all is lost and winter comes, I shall be your...

I don’t want perfect because it doesn’t exist in any species.

Autumn is a cunning muse who steals by degrees my warmth and light. So distracted by her glorious painting of colors, I scarcely realize my losses until the last fiery leaf has fallen to the...

Winter in Maine is a time of alternating rest and frenzied activity.

Even the strongest blizzards start with a single snowflake.

As the trees turned red, then white, then naked as pitchforks, Margot and Xiao Chen immersed themselves in several forests’ worth of pages, and I watched, tortured, as brick after brick of a new development...

There are only two seasons – winter and Baseball.

Maybe eventually winter will finish our job for us and end the world in ice instead of blood.

Wolf Star shines on wintry high;Gazing northward by and by.Ice and snow on shorelines lie;Wind and spirits haunt the sky.

Nothing burns like the cold. But only for a while. Then it gets inside you and starts to fill you up, and after a while you don’t have the strength to fight it.

March came in that winter like the meekest and mildest of lambs, bringing days that were crisp and golden and tingling, each followed by a frosty pink twilight which gradually lost itself in an elfland...

It looks like something out of Whittier’s “Snowbound,”‘ Julia said. Julia could always think of things like that to say.

There it was again, the prickling sense of standing on a precipice.

December’s wintery breath is already clouding the pond, frosting the pane, obscuring summer’s memory…

He ever offer to walk you home?””I’ve never asked,” Cath said quickly. “I’ve never asked you either.””That’s true,” Levi said.More quiet. More cold.The air stung Cath’s throat when she finally spoke again. “So maybe you...

I read, much of the night, and go south in the winter.

I waited for the seasons of love to pass from this cold winter to the summer heat I dreamed of.

Zac dangled his legs off the edge of the building, hanging onto every word I said as though I were some old time bard telling an epic war tale. I tried to be as detailed...

Ah for pittie, wil ranke Winters rage,These bitter blasts neuer ginne tasswage?The keene cold blowes throug my beaten hyde,All as I were through the body gryde.My ragged rontes all shiver and shake,As doen high Towers...

The Steadfast Love of the Lord is not Seasonal; His Mercies do not have winter or summer days… They are new every now and then.

A tree has leaves like man has hair. Some men go winter in the summer, and other men, like me, like skiing on skin.

By lunchtime the valley was lightly coated, like a cake with confectioner’s sugar…there was white fur on the antlers of the iron deer and on the melancholy boughs of the Norway spruce.

Winter then in its early and clear stages, was a purifying engine that ran unhindered over city and country, alerting the stars to sparkle violently and shower their silver light into the arms of bare...

Other flowers came at the end of the summer, but by then the winter sadness had already dissipated, and the effect of the blooms was not the same.

The rapid nightfall of mid-December had quite beset the little village as they approached it on soft feet over a first thin fall of powdery snow. Little was visible but squares of a dusky orange-red...

It’s not the winter that bothers me – it’s the summers.

you make autumn misttaste like champagne and turn winter raininto the elixir of life itself.

Hair is gray and the firers are burning. So many dreams on the shelf. You say I wanted you to be proud of me. I always wanted that myself.

And instead of dying Immediately after they shot him, he would go on to survive several days solely because of the cold that January. Maybe that’s why we are drawn to those who posses the...

Always choose the adventure … unless, it’s chilly outside and there’s a cup of warm coffee resting near a book and comfy sofa.

Naturally not, but I do now.

Winter was gray and mean upon the city and every night was a package of cold bleak hours, like the hours in a cell that had no door.

It is not love that transforms the world, but pity.

A fool I was to sleep at noon, And wake when night is chilly Beneath the comfortless cold moon; A fool to pluck my rose too soon, A fool to snap my lily. My garden-plot...

Winter brings cold dry harsh weather and trees are without leaves.

She and Marie were Montreal girls, not trained to accompany heroes, or to hold out for dreams, but just to be patient.