essay on winter mornings

Enter Your Search Terms to Get Started! A winter morning It was still ash-grey on a Sunday morning, but the spirits were awake already. They were whispering everywhere. They were shaking shaking everything in their paths. They seeped through the gaps around the doors and windows. They crawled down the walls and flooded the room with their ice-cold breath. They crept into my bed. Then woke me up and penetrated my duvet. Surrounded by them, I found myself shrinking like an earthworm. I then had to compromise my bed. They enjoyed taking possession. I was trying to sleep with my knees squashed to my head and my arms around my ankles. I was shaking when I felt their presence. I got up and closed the windows. They were trapped, inside. Slowly, they would evaporate in the presence of heat. Finally, the air is getting brighter by the reflection of the sun. The spirits were making more noise than ever before on the street. I looked out of the window. I saw the purest colour in the world. The gossamer flakes of snow parachuted down with the breaths of the spirits slowly as if they were floating, as if the time had stopped and gravity was taking a break. They landed and died in this cold war between hot and cold. The sun had finally arrived, given the world a spray of warmth. Over the sky, there is nothing but the strong glowing sun. She is giving the world the chance to survive. The ice was melting in very slow progress. It felt like the Ice-Age. The snow had stopped. It seemed that she had won the battle today for the people. The sky was visible for miles. With her stood alone in the middle and yet so powerful and graceful like an ancient hero that never dies. The cars were all plugged in snow like the grass. There was a frozen lake, not far away. I saw a young man busy walking across the lake through the misty window. He was in a hurry. The cold sweat ran down his forehead.
Enter Your Search Terms to Get Started! A cold winter morning A Cold Winter Morning I am lying on a white, sandy beach with the blazing sun beating down directly on my bronzed summer body. I notice the attractive, Puerto Rican Cabana boy heading over to refill my newly empty Margarita glass. I look around my private beach and at the crystal clear, sparkling ocean water inviting me warmly in to its open arms. I get up from my comfortable bed on the sand, walking slowly to the water. The sand is burning my bare feet with such intensity that I speed my walk up almost into a jog. As I reach the waterfront I stop, as a tumbling wave is heading toward my glazing body; I step closer to be in its direct path. I glide in with such grace, I prepare myself for the cool, refreshing bath. I hear a siren screaming, I look around in a panic as it is hurting my ears and giving me an intense headache. My beach is drifting away, then it is gone. The warmth my body feels is gone. I open my eyes; I am in my dark, lifeless room. My alarm clock is going off and the sound can only be compared with dragging your fingernails across a chalkboard. I turn it off. My sunny beach has been push out of my thoughts and replaced with a chill that penetrates straight to the bone. I would pay one hundred dollars to just get five more minutes of sleep. I think of all I have to do this wintry day, it is too much for me and I shut my eyes. I hold my self tighter in my make shift cocoon of blankets. I come to the conclusion that I have no choice. I throw off my down comforter; the air around me is arctic cold and bites away, sucking all the warmth from my weak body. My bare feet hit the wood floor feeling as if I am walking on an ice rink; I head to the bathroom. I look for my slippers and rope, hoping to find some way to protect my delicate body from the frosty air dancing around me. I pull on my robe and.
________________________________________________ Title:     A Winter's Morning Author: Richard Jefferies [More Titles by Jefferies] The pale beams of the waning moon still cast a shadow of the cottage, when the labourer rises from his heavy sleep on a winter's morning. Often he huddles on his things and slips his feet into his thick 'water-tights'--which are stiff and hard, having been wet over night--by no other light than this. If the household is comparatively well managed, however, he strikes a match, and his 'dip' shows at the window. But he generally prefers to save a candle, and clatters down the narrow steep stairs in the semi-darkness, takes a piece of bread and cheese, and steps forth into the sharp air. The cabbages in the garden he notes are covered with white frost, so is the grass in the fields, and the footpath is hard under foot. In the furrows is a little ice--white because the water has shrunk from beneath it, leaving it hollow--and on the stile is a crust of rime, cold to the touch, which he brushes off in getting over. Overhead the sky is clear--cloudless but pale--and the stars, though not yet fading, have lost the brilliant glitter of midnight. Then, in all their glory, the idea of their globular shape is easily accepted; but in the morning, just as the dawn is breaking, the absence of glitter comes the impression of flatness--circular rather than globular. But yonder, over the elms, above the cowpens, the great morning star has risen, shining far brighter, in proportion, than the moon; an intensely clear metallic light--like incandescent silver. The shadows of the trees on the frosted ground are dull. As the footpath winds by the hedge the noise of his footstep startles the blackbird roosting in the bushes, and he bustles out and flies across the field. There is more rime on the posts and rails around the rickyard, and the thatch on the.
Content: Description, its agents, its importance, problems, conclusion. Its description: The winter is one of the most important seasons of India. This season comes after the rainy season. Winter stays in our country for about three months. The whole atmosphere is cold in this season. Nights are long and days are short. The cold winds blow all the time. The sky often remains clear. Sometimes it rains during this season. Dew drops at night. There is fog in the morning. Its agents: The cold wind is the chief agent of this season. It makes the weather dull and chilly. Sometimes the untimely rain makes life miserable. It destroys our crops. Frost is another agent of the winter season. Naturally, it is always very difficult to go out at night in winter. But winter in India is not as cold as it is in some European countries. Its importance: But the winter season has its own importance. It is very useful for health. People like to walk in the morning. They find fresh air to breathe in. During summer we cannot work for long. But in winter we can go on working for hours and hours. We do not get tired easily. There is no problem of mosquitoes in this season. People do not fall ill as they do in summer. Besides, dew drops on the grass look like pearls. This season is very important for farmers, too. Problems and difficulties: The winter season creates problems for poor people. They have to work hard during the day time. They often sit by the fire at bight. They have no warm clothes. Sometimes they need to work even in the night. A large number of birds and other small animals die in this season. Travelling is troublesome in this season. We have to carry lot of luggage with us. Due to lack of adequate warm clothes and shelter, there are instances of when people and animals die because of cold in our country. What rich people should do? Rich people should spare some money for the.
________________________________________________ Title:     A Winter Walk Author: Henry David Thoreau [More Titles by Thoreau] [1843.]The wind has gently murmured through the blinds, or puffed with feathery softness against the windows, and occasionally sighed like a summer zephyr lifting the leaves along, the livelong night. The meadow-mouse has slept in his snug gallery in the sod, the owl has sat in a hollow tree in the depth of the swamp, the rabbit, the squirrel, and the fox have all been housed. The watch-dog has lain quiet on the hearth, and the cattle have stood silent in their stalls. The earth itself has slept, as it were its first, not its last sleep, save when some street-sign or wood-house door has faintly creaked upon its hinge, cheering forlorn nature at her midnight work,--the only sound awake twixt Venus and Mars,--advertising us of a remote inward warmth, a divine cheer and fellowship, where gods are met together, but where it is very bleak for men to stand. But while the earth has slumbered, all the air has been alive with feathery flakes descending, as if some northern Ceres reigned, showering her silvery grain over all the fields.We sleep, and at length awake to the still reality of a winter morning. The snow lies warm as cotton or down upon the window-sill; the broadened sash and frosted panes admit a dim and private light, which enhances the snug cheer within. The stillness of the morning is impressive. The floor creaks under our feet as we move toward the window to look abroad through some clear space over the fields. We see the roofs stand under their snow burden. From the eaves and fences hang stalactites of snow, and in the yard stand stalagmites covering some concealed core. The trees and shrubs rear white arms to the sky on every side; and where were walls and fences, we see fantastic forms stretching in frolic gambols across the dusky.
A winter morning is misty and cold. There is dense fog everywhere. Everything looks hazy. Sometimes the fog is so dense that the sun rays can not get through it. Even things at a little distance can hardly be seen. The tall trees are covered with fog and they cannot be made out. Dew- drops fall at night. When the morning sun peeps they look like glittering gold on grass and plants. The birds feel happy to see the rays of the sun. The cow and other animals can not come out. But it is not so in every morning. Farmers go to the field with ‘hooka’ in their hands.Village children and the poor people gather straw and make fires to warm themselves. The old people and the poor people bask in the sun. People in general and children get up late. In a winter morning housewives make delicious and sweet cakes, pies of date juice and many other things. The scene of the winter morning vanishes as the day advances. The sun goes up and the fog melts. A winter morning is enjoyable in many respects.