May I share words of one of my favorite poets, Mary Oliver, as she writes from amidst many drifts?

Of Snow and Fire

This is the way the fox runs:

like a bundle of wet red pearls

over the snow.

This is the way the fire burns:

like a bundle of foxes flashing past.

Who says winter is the most dismal.

There’s the silence of almost everything

and its color;

and there are the voices remembered

behind the silence.