Snow, the fierce artificer

  

Only a short mile from our new house

sits the old house.

The house we lived in on weekends. 

Along the way the snow has covered a multitude of sins.

Maybe one day a new house will sit here.

Waiting for a family.

Friends of ours have restored this fine old barn.

Have danced many a Polka here.

 While on a visit to Mongolia, our friends shipped an authentic Yurt.  It was delivered complete with stove, fabrics, furnishings, fine embroideries and even hand made shoes.  It serves as an extra sleeping room.

Speaking of shoes, this is how I get around in the deep snow.

I remember my first pair, purchased in Italy more than 40 years ago.  There have been many more since, every color, every style. 

The old chicken coop has become a guest cottage.

And the main house built of fine local stone.

  

For many years we lived next door.  Mr. G made this small opening in the gate for me with the comment that if ever I could not fit through it, he would divorce me.  No worries, we built a new house.

With a wider gate.

To our new house.
   

The Snow-Storm
Ralph Waldo Emerson

...Come see the north wind’s masonry.
Out of an unseen quarry evermore
Furnished with tile, the fierce artificer
Curves his white bastions with projected roof
Round every windward stake, or tree, or door.
Speeding, the myriad-handed, his wild work
So fanciful, so savage, naught cares he
For number or proportion. Mockingly,
On coop or kennel he hangs Parian wreaths;
A swan-like form invests the hidden thorn;
Fills up the farmer’s lane from wall to wall,

 Have a great weekend my dear

Blogging Friends.

Gina