There is magic in snow – silence. When snow falls, accumulating on the grass,
trees and ground, the world grows quiet, the snow suddenly swallowing all sound. Tires grow mute as they roll over unplowed
streets, feet become soundless as they shuffle through the light powder, and words
are muffled as falling flakes absorb the voices that spoke them. I love to walk outside when the snow has
first fallen and a blanket of white shrouds the earth. There is a feeling of renewal, rebirth and
cleanliness as dirt, dust and disease get buried beneath my feet. Snow settles on bare branches, weighing them
down and dressing them up, a startling yet breathtaking contrast from the green
we usually associate with them.
Everything ordinary and manmade– fire hydrants, traffic signs, fences –
takes on a subtle charm, transformed by the by the beauty of the snow. The silence stills my mind, drawing me out of
myself. I listen and hear things that
have eluded me on other occasions. Silence
calls forth serenity and as I inhale the scentless snow I am at peace. For the
moment the world is right and my spirit is free. And then the plow, unforgiving
and harsh, slams through the silence, scrapes away the serenity and the magic
is broken.
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