The sky is heavy with soft white flakes. So large they aren’t really flakes at all, more like frozen tufts of cotton, falling like sheets through the steel colored air, onto the barren ground. All of the trees are naked now. The snow struggles to find purchase in them, clinging to the cricks and crannies where the branches kiss the trunks. Among the firs, soft green needles provide a more ready nest for the flakes falling fast. It’s wondrous how it adds up. Close your eyes for just a moment. Wake up in wonderland. The drab clouds melt into the mud-hardened earth and sends forth a thousand points of light. The alchemy of winter, mixing grey and brown into a brilliant, blinding white.

We stroll through the streets some hours later. The warm air has already coated the cold cotton-like pillows with a brittle layer of ice. So thin you can barely see it. But the trudge of my boots releases a satisfying crunch and crackle. Breaking into the delicious soft snow below like a spoon through the crispy caramel on creme brulee. 

Despite the snow, no children and parents wander off to sled or build snowmen. But we are not the only animals that have ventured forth as the sky stills and the snow settles. Geese strangely meander overhead. One day south, then next north. They seem as lost as we are. Confused by seasons seeping into one another, unnaturally gnarled, marred by mankind. And yet a kind of beauty, the steady pace of their wings, cutting through the frigid air, confident in flight. As the days pass, other tracks in the yard appear beside ours. Small animals venturing from their shelter in search of sustenance. 

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Photo by Aditya Vyas on Unsplash