Nature has drawn her white coverlet and tucked 
it carefully in around about her, calmly composed 
for a sound, tranquil sleep. This is the casual and 
quieting impression from an easy position above the 
stream now showing as a smooth, winding hollow 
in the unbroken whiteness of the field. A few 
Willows and Alders almost buried on the opposite 
bank seem like splashes of ink on a clean page, and 
away toward the rising hill that leads to the dense, 
dark green of the Spruces a black patch of hurrying 
water shows that under the ice and snow the stream 
is still alive. Is it the only evidence of life i In front 
the snow is unbroken in every direction, while behind 
the winding row of deep indentations tells how the 
wayfarer may pursue a tortuous course while fondly 
imagining his path straight. Immediately in front, 
waiting to be obliterated with the next random step, 
is a small hole in the snow as round and clear-cut as 
if made by a walking cane. No pedestrian has been 
near since the unbroken sheet of snow was spread so 
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