Snow again.

Finally the sky releases her pent up moisture. Snow like clouds of feathers float down, each flake discernible as an ephemeral entity. Pillowing white walls appear on rails and roofs; settle in white tracks where cars have gone; wrap windows in heavy quilts. Tree limbs get flocked in trace work, icy on the bare budding branches, thick as fox fur on the evergreens. A Huskey bounds in pure glee through the transformed landscape, joy evident in every stretching stride, each whirl and twist of his white and grey coat, each shake of his happy head. Home. He knows the smell of snow, the wet embrace of its fingers, the dark gloom of northern night descending. This is what he was bred and born for. The cold blast in his face, the cool dampness on his flanks, muscles pulling with the arctic blood of his ancestors driving him on. Passion and love for life. To be reborn on such a day!

I just wrote this in my journal, inspired by the scene out of my window this evening. The dog's joy was contagious.