JIM STOCKTON: Never mind why it’s there!
The snow fell silently and softly over two nights, most spectacularly in the game reserve immediately north of Belding. It clung to the shrubbery and trees, an exquisite latticework of branches coaxing the eye into a world of reverie. A study in black and white, it framed a canopy of enchantment, evoking memories of an old fashion magazine that featured elongated, impressionistic drawings of women, as tall as trees and as slender as serpents. Rightly or wrongly I remember it as the old “Madamasoille,” but the current “New Yorker” sports similarly drawn cartoons linked to humor beyond my ken.


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