The Presidency by Hugh Sidey: Those Evergreen Echoes

In his studio at Chadds Ford, Pa., with a model of the White House before him, Jamie Wyeth invoked the gift of fancy that runs in his veins, and with his brush brought snow to canvas. Meteorological records were shattered. The giant flakes covered the fountain on the South Lawn and blotted out the driveways. Cars disappeared. Falling snow hushed the city and drew a purple night around it. Wyeth stilled the melancholy world with his lovely strokes and brought the stars out one by one on Christmas Eve. He lighted the...

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