Picture-books in Winter

Summer fading, winter comes—
Frosty mornings, tingling thumbs
Window robins, winter rooks,
And the picture story-books.

Water now is turned to stone
Nurse and I can walk upon;
Still we find the flowing brooks
In the picture story-books.

All the pretty things put by,
Wait upon the children's eye,
Sheep and shepherds, trees and crooks,
In the picture story-books.

We may see how all things are,
Seas and cities, near and far,
And the flying fairies' looks,
In the picture story-books.

How am I to sing your praise,
Happy chimney-corner days,
Sitting safe in nursery nooks,
Reading picture story-books?

by Robert Louis Stevenson

(check out this old post for a nearly identical photo of Beth, back when she was the age Evie is now. As I've said before, by the time the third one comes around, there is nothing they do that's entirely new...and yet somehow Evie is constantly amazing us with how unique (aka weird) she is.)