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I grew up thinking of snow as a luxury you visit.

Snow isn't just pretty. It also cleanses our world and our senses, not just of the soot and grime of a Fife mining town but also of a kind of weary familiarity, a taken-for-granted quality to which our eyes are all too susceptible.

Although I love snow, it messes things up terribly around Seattle, with all of our hills. I worry about my loved ones driving.

Snow provokes responses that reach right back to childhood.

Even in winter an isolated patch of snow has a special quality.

Snow is so common that I have omitted to note its falling at least two days out of Three.

The pure air and dazzling snow belong to things beyond the reach of all personal feeling, almost beyond the reach of life. Yet such things are a part of our life, neither the least noble nor the most terrible.

I grew up in Chicago, and there was always snow. In Los Angeles there never was, so we would always import snow!