At my window, in our courtyard, the Darkeyed Juncos, otherwise known as Snow Birds, hunker down.
Here's a poem by Emily Dickinson:
The sky is low, the clouds are mean,The sky is low, the clouds are mean,
A travelling flake of snow
Across a barn or through a rut
Debates if it will go.
A narrow wind complains all day
How some one treated him;
Nature, like us, is sometimes caught
Without her diadem.
I like this painting by Lorraine Rimmelin:
and also this one, by Jessica Boehman, entitled "Hibernation." This is how I feel today.