We can complain all we like about how cold it is outside, but when our world was transformed into an ice crusted wonderland this morning, I jumped for joy. I was totally late for work because I couldn’t make myself put the camera down.
Black are my steps on silver sod;
Thick blows my frosty breath abroad;
And tree and house, and hill and lake,
Are frosted like a wedding-cake.
– Robert Louis Stevenson, from his poem Winter-Time originally published in A Child’s Garden of Verses