Trees rise up from the ground like skeletons of some primeval monster: stark and forbiddingly black against the gray sky. They reach up as if to claw the threatening sky. The stillness is stifling. Then, a snowflake leisurely drifts down to the ground; multitudes follow, the skies have broken open, releasing its treasure to blanket the earth. The skeletons become clothed in white, drifts wrap around the knolls. Churning flurries obscure the landscape, and then calm, dwindling to a restful close. The sun appears, shining glaringly white, reflecting off the surface of the snow like a fortune of crystal scattered over the ground. A cloud, a canvas; both are pale and yellow in comparison to the hue of fresh-fallen snow. All is still and hushed as if the entire world has been silenced by the splendor. Only occasionally a breath of wind knocks a small cluster of snow from the topmost branches, breaking the tranquil splendor of the drift-covered forest.