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In January or February come the great ice-storms, when every branch, blade, and trunk is coated with frozen rain, so that you can touch nothing truly. The spikes of the pines are sunk into pear-shaped crystals, and each fence-post is miraculously hilted with diamonds. If you bend a twig, the icing cracks like varnish, and a half-inch branch snaps off at the lightest tap. If wind and sun open the day together, the eye cannot look steadily at the splendour of this jewelry. |
This is from “Leaves from a Winter Notebook” in Letters of Travel, 1892-1913 It describes Kipling’s experience of Winter in Vermont. where he settled for four years after his marriage in 1892. |
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