in Thoreau’s Journal:
The snow has fallen so gently that if forms an upright wall on the slenderest twig. The agreeable maze which the branches make is come obvious than ever, and every twig thus laden is as still as the hillside itself…
The sight of the pure and trackless road up Brister’s Hill, with branches and trees supporting snowy burdens bending over it on each side, would tempt us to begin life again.
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