I notice in the last two lines the physicality of the language, the "s"s and crumpled rhythm that mimics the pace and indirectness of the snow. Sometimes we forget the sound of snow as much as its splendor falling. Reminds me of Frost: "The only other sound's the swept, / Of easy wind and downy flake."
The cold still feels nice. Bounced up to 38 degrees today. Ice still on the creak.






