I’m one of those people that forgot to grow out of snow. I love it! It’s beautiful, of course; that goes without saying, but what I love the most is the way it changes things.
The sky is heavy, laid like a blanket so that ordinary sounds are just memories, a thick silence spreading out across the streets so that you can suddenly hear sounds you normally ignore: a tree dropping a leaf; the beating of a sparrow’s wings; a soft thud of snow falling from a branch. As the horizon smudges land and sky into a soft grey-white, the sound of the air follows, dragging the quiet of the sky to earth.
I love the soft creak beneath your feet as you walk, crisp and dense like a new duvet; the soft edge the cold has to it now, muffled like the sound. Time begins to seep away into this temporary stillness, everything held calmly in the moment.
Snow. Snow. Snow.
Monkey by Clive Wesley Dennis