One never, never loses the surprise and wonder of new fallen snow, that inexplainable something that touches the core of your innermost being as you stand in your nightie shivering and amazed at the pure glory of the transformation. Emily Carr Of the four seasons, spring entices, summer makes you welcome, autumn gives you a lingering farewell, but winter remains aloof. We think of it as harsh and uncomprimising. We speak of the dead months, the night of the year, the return of the ice age, the winter of our discontent. Yet, paradoxically, in its own way, winter is a time of superlative life.
Frosty air sets our blood to racing.
The nip of the wind quickens our step. The winter storms of snow and cold are ruled by a person sometimes called the Coldmaker. He is white, not as the white man is white, but rather like the snow, and is clad in white and rides a white horse. He brings the storm, riding in the midst of it and some people have the power to call him and bring on a snowstorm. No summer is long enough to take away the winter.