New Englander Robert Frost graphically describes a winter scene and an individual's response to it.

His poem may serve as a reminder of the arctic conditions which have been enveloping North America.

WILLFUL HOMING

It is getting dark and time he drew to a house,

But the blizzard blinds him to any house ahead.

The storm gets down his neck in an icy souse

That sucks his breath like a wicked cat in bed.

The snow blows on him and off him, exerting force

Downward to make him sit astride a drift,

Imprint a saddle, and calmly consider a course.

He peers out shrewdly into the thick and swift.

Since he means to come to a door he will come to a door,

Although so compromised of aim and rate

He may fumble wide of the knob a yard or more,

And to those concerned he may seem a little late.