From James Joyce’s “The Dead”:

A few light taps upon the pane made him turn to the window. It had begun to snow again. He watched sleepily the flakes, silver and dark, falling obliquely against the lamplight. […] His soul swooned slowly as he heard the snow falling faintly through the universe and faintly falling, like the descent of their last end, upon all the living and the dead.

About five inches of snow faintly fell yesterday. The walks and roads were clear when we rose this morning, but the yards were a white blanket, wrinkled only by my husband’s path to the feeders and the many prints of seed-seeking birds and critters. Beautiful.