Ask for English articles about snow, northeast winter and northeast tourism, thank you.

Author: henry wadsworth longfellow

The first snow came. How beautiful it is, it falls quietly all day and all night, on the mountain, on the grass, on the roof of the living and on the grave of the dead. Everything is white except the river, and the winding black line marks its route on the landscape; Against the leaden sky, the bare trees show the wonderful beauty and intricacy of their branches more fully. How quiet and quiet the snow has brought! All the voices become deep, and all the noises become soft and pleasant. No more hooves, no more wheels! Only the sleigh bells play a harmonious sound, as lively as children's heartbeats.

first snow

John Boynton Priestley

When I got up this morning, the world was cold, dead white and light blue. The light coming through the window is very strange, which makes people familiar with splashing water, shaving, brushing their teeth and dressing very strange. Then the sun came out. When I sat down to have breakfast, it was shining bravely and washing the snow with delicate pink. The window of the dining room has become a lovely Japanese print. The little plum tree outside, with slightly reddish snow lining the branches, skillfully handled the trunk and stood in the sun. After an hour or two, everything glowed coldly in white and blue. The world has completely changed again. Japanese small prints have all disappeared. I looked out from the window of my study, across the garden and the grass, and looked at the low mountains in the distance. The ground was a long glare, the sky was iron gray, and all the trees were black and evil. The whole prospect does have some strange ominous signs. It seems that our kind country near the heart of England has become a cruel prairie. It seems that at any time, we can see a group of cavalry rushing out of the black jungle, see many tools of tyranny, hear gunshots, and a piece of snow in the distance is dyed red. That's the kind of scenery.

Now it's changed again. The dazzling light disappeared, leaving no trace of evil. But the snow is very heavy and soft, so you can hardly see the shallow valley, the roof is thick, the trees are bent, and the weathervane of the village church can still be seen through the gray air, which has become Andersen of some creatures. From my study, far away from the house and facing the house, I can see the children sticking their noses on the window of the nursery. A rhyme poem that I often repeated when I was a child echoed in my mind. I put my nose on the cold window and watched the snow fall:

It's snowing, and it's snowing faster;

White alabaster!

Killing geese in Scotland,

Send feathers here!

This morning, when I first saw this strange white world, I couldn't help but hope that we could have more snow and it would be colder in winter in England. I think it would be great if there were a few months of clean snow and a landscape with frost, instead of countless gloomy, featureless, windy and rainy days. I began to envy my friends in the eastern States of the United States and Canada. They can expect a solid winter every year and know that snow will come on a certain date and will remain there until spring is near at hand. There is snow and frost, clear sky and fresh air-this seems to be real happiness to me. Then I found it impossible for us. We should get tired of it in a week. After the first day, magic will disappear, leaving nothing but the constant bright light during the day and the painful and cruel night. What is fascinating is not the snow itself, nor the scene of the covered world, but the arrival of the first snow, the sudden and silent change.

first snow

Jonathan Nicholas

He is not sure what woke him up. Maybe the child made some small noises in his sleep. But when he peeked under the quilt, his eyes were not attracted to the cradle, but to the window.

It was then that he realized what had sneaked through his sleep shield. That's the feeling of snow.

In order not to disturb the child's mother, he quietly got out of bed and walked slowly to the cradle. He leaned down and gently lifted the warm package to his shoulder. Then, when he crept out of the bedroom, she looked up, opened her eyes and smiled at her father, which is a magic every day.

He carried her downstairs and counted the crunches on the road. They sat at the kitchen table together, and his adult temperament disappeared. Now it's two children. They put their noses on the glass.

The light from the street lamp on the street corner penetrates the birch tree and casts a green color in the brown backyard in winter, just like the memory of summer. The endless echo of traffic lights came from a distance, flashing ruby-like information, like a dawn that will not come.

Snowflakes are falling thick and dense, pouring down from the window like a mysterious waterfall. Occasionally, someone will stick to the glass and seem unwilling to leave it to chance. Then, slowly, slide down the glass, it will melt, and its beauty will be fleeting. It's gone.

In less than an hour, a white tablecloth was laid on the lawn. When the gray dawn scattered along the black seam of the distant mountain, father and daughter watched the new day ripple in the neighborhood.

The porch light came on. The car door slammed shut. A TV is flickering.

Across the street, a family dressed in a hurry. But this day is different. When they ran from room to room, I caught a glimpse of the children's slim figure through the window without awning, which seemed to be getting fatter and fatter. Until finally, the kitchen door suddenly opened and three amazing bound objects rushed out, and they immediately rolled in the snow.

He wants to know where they learned this behavior. Even the youngest child, it must be the first real snow for him, and seems to know instinctively what to do.

They rolled around in it, tasted it, wrapped it into balls and threw it at each other. Then, just when he thought they might not know everything, they began to make a snowman on the top of the mountain.

When the snowman's nose was in place, the neighbors were completely awake. A car whined in protest, but it slipped out of the driveway firmly. The bus pushed forward like a marine corps, determined to occupy the mountain. The baby has been sitting in his arms safely and warmly.

He knows, of course, that she won't remember all this. For her, there will be other snowfalls to remember. But for him, this is her first time. Their first time. Long after the snowman melts, this memory will remain in his mind, cold and hard.