Not the silver white of leaves but of filigree-fractals frosting a window pane, a sight rarely seen since the advent of central heating, though I remember it from my childhood, a shivering finesse of trees and leaves or tributaries fanning into estuaries.
‘… just as I had dissolved so much of the silver-white foliage veiling the panes as left room to look out, I saw the gates thrown open…’
Source: Charlotte Bronte, Jane Eyre (London: Bounty Books, 2012 (1847)), p. 33
