"Gentlemen, I have dreamed to-night; I'll tell you my dream. Here, here, here be my keys: ascend to my chambers; search, seek, find out: I'll warrant we'll unkennel the fox." Shakespeare, Merry Wives of Windsor, Act III
Snow fell as jagged crystals, not as flakes:
white drifts pixilating Beacon grass;
chill misty air; my frozen fingers ached;
and I fell, too, upon my fleece-lined arse –
which made the spring-expectant hillside quake.