There is sunset on the desert, moonrise on mid-ocean, gorgeous coloring
and crowding life in the tropics, dazzling starlight over ice-bound
lands. Neither is one day so much better than another for beholding
Nature. Yesterday we let the mild sunshine redden the blood beneath the
skin; to-day we are drawn from our study of the perfect harmony of grays
in the clouds and trees to watch, within the house, the bright light
which gleams from the coals,--Nature brought up out of the earth.

Regard even one day of our worst weather, as we say,--worst for our
health or convenience we must always mean. Think of a bleak and sleety
March day. As the storm whirls against the house with strong blasts
of rain and snow, our excitement increases by watching the swaying
trees, and by listening to the shaking windows, while the lawless winds
howl and rage around the corner. When the winds settle from
boisterousness into low complaints, and now and then fall into quiet
utterances, musical murmurings, the rain pauses, the sky softens, and
our minds grow calm and gentle. But when, again, the clouds gather
darkness, and make strength for a new onslaught, we become sober with
fear and doubt. Tell me, if, as we view these changes, and hear these
stirring or weird sounds, we do not indeed behold battle scenes, and
listen to music from which even Wagner might have learned.

But the storm is the exceptional aspect, and we ought to care more
for ordinary views. Winter is common enough, but it has its perfections.
Its colors, though less gorgeous than those of autumn, are the most
restful and quiet in their tone and feeling. Those grays and browns,
huddling together in silent lines side by side, are full of peaceful
beauty as they rest upon the white snow or up against uncertain skies.
I like a gray atmosphere relieved by silver birches, just enough
sombreness set off by cheerfulness. It is wisdom and patience ornamented