“Un rideau de flocons blancs ininterrompu miroitait sans cesse en descendant vers la terre; il effaçait les formes, poudrait les choses d’une mousse de glace; et l’on n’entendait plus, dans le grand silence de la ville calme et ensevelie sous l’hiver, que ce froissement vague, innommable et flottant de la neige qui tombe, plutôt sensation que bruit , entremêlement d’atomes légers qui semblaient emplir l’espace, couvrir le monde.” Guy de Maupassant, boule de suif.
“It was early autumn, then, before the snow began to fly. –(There’s an expression for you, born in the country, born from the imaginations of men and their feeling for the right word, the only word, to mirror clearly what they see! Those with few words must know how to use them.) Men who have seen it, who have watched it day by day outside their cabin window coming down from the sky, like the visible remorse of an aging year; who have watched it bead upon the ears of the horses they rode, muffle the sound of hoofs on the trail, lie upon spruce boughs and over grass – cover, as if forever, the landscape in which they moved, round off the mountains, blanket the ice in the rivers – for them the snow flies. The snow doesn’t fall. It may ride the wind. It may descend slowly, in utter quiet, from the grey and laden clouds, so that you can hear the flakes touching lightly on the wide white waste, as they come to rest at the end of their flight. Flight – that’s the word. They beat in the air like wings, as if reluctant ever to touch the ground. I have observed them coming down, on a very cold day, near its end when the sky above me was still blue, in flakes great and wide as the palm of my hand. They were like immense moths winging down in the twilight, making the silence about me visible.” – Howard O’Hagan Tay John
…Voilà coin Perdu in January! Quiet and silent behind its curtain of white…
..A view on the bench, where I dream and plan, except in winter. Then I dream and plan by the fire..
..Forgotten socks …
..and terracotta pots waiting to be cleaned..
..Two adorable faces, waiting for fresh hay..
..The Eiffle tower, a bit askew in the potager..
..Old barrel rims, waiting to become arches in the potager..
..The wine bottle rack, serving some different purpose every so often..
..The road to la toilette requires snow boots..
..”La toilette” in snow attire..
..Velouté de butternut..
- Clean and chop and onion and fry in some olive oil.
- Add some cleaned Butternut, cut into chunks.
- Cover with vegetable or chicken stock until vegetables are completely covered. simmer until very tender.
- Mix to a puree and put back on gentle heat.
- Add coconut milk to the soup according to your preference.. Season and leave to simmer gently on low heat for about 10 minutes.
- Add the juice of 1 orange, season with salt and pepper.
- Serve warm with freshly grated nutmeg and crusty bread.
So, on this quiet, hushed snow note, I leave you..