The snow covered the ground, and the sun the snow. With a happiness so intense that I saw no reason to question it, I rose from my blankets. Just living, sheer delightful breathing, had, in earlier periods of my life, convinced me that a man, like a dog, is most himself wagging his tail. … Four inches of snow, and life had changed back to what it once had been, what it should be forever.

suzanne sent this from philip roth, on the snow of hyde park, from before we were born.

laura said she wished she could feel this right now- someday again.

i felt in the ruins yesterday near dusk everything was tinted pale blue.

also watching the people sledding on the hill by the train tracks on the midway. roth recalls the holland of children's book decembers, but that snowlight, the light that turns pale in the margins and the shadows of trees and the ruins of ancient steel mills at dusk, the light where the eyes move like the dust of snow peripherally searching for skittering creatures and snowy owls. 

we lose everything that matters most when we become adult i think. when we succumb to the forces that misshape our souls, we lose the wonder of snowlight and the imagination of dogs and kids. but it's still here, the dogs, the kids, the puffs of laughter in the cold air, these portals into the wonder in hibernation waiting to be called again.