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A LODGING SNOW 



January 20, 1855. In many instances the snow 

 had lodged on trees yesterday in just such forms as 

 a white napkin or counterpane dropped on them 

 would take, — protuberant in the middle, with 

 many folds and dimples. An ordinary leafless bush 

 supported so much snow on its twigs — a perfect 

 maze like a whirligig, though not in one solid mass 

 — that you could not see through it. Sometimes the 

 snow on the bent pitch pines made me think of rams' 

 or elephants' heads, ready to butt you. In particular 

 places, standing on their snowiest side, the woods 

 were incredibly fair, white as alabaster. Indeed, the 

 young pines reminded you of the purest statuary, 

 and the stately full-grown ones towering around 

 affected you as if you stood in a titanic sculptor's 

 studio, so purely and delicately white, transmitting 

 the light, their dark trunks all concealed. And in 

 many places, where the snow lay on withered oak 

 leaves between you and the light, various delicate 

 fawn-colored and cinnamon tints, blending with 

 the white, still enhanced the beauty. 



I doubt if I can convey an ideal of the appearance 

 of the woods yesterday, as you stood in their midst 

 and looked round on their boughs and twigs laden 



' This is Thoreau's conclusion after more than ten pages of attempted 

 description of the beauty of Concord woods under their burden of snow. 

 Needless to say, no photograph, or series of photographs, can be more 

 successful. H. W. G. 



