…After the snowfall, the temperature had fallen and everything had frozen. The branches of the trees resembled crystal menorahs. Candles were ignited in them by the setting sun and then extinguished. The blue snow sparkled with diamonds. Early stars twinkled in the sky. Somewhere, a dog bayed.
From The Manor, by Isaac Bashevis Singer
Snow falls, melts, vanishes, returns. We pass this way but once. What will we leave behind to say we were here?