[9] Sunday

It's been snowing since the new year's day, and now we are perpetually covered under a thick blanket of white fluff, which will soon turn into ice, and we'll break some bones at some point or another. Any hopes of spring are completely crushed, and most people are just snowed in, hiding in their houses. But not me, when people go in, I come out.

As I make my way through the porch and into the street, I feel the silence. This street, these houses are never as quiet as they are tonight. It is as if everything has just stopped for a moment. The air, the leaves, the birds, the crickets, and other bugs, and most surprisingly, the people. I walk by the same houses I walk by all the time, mostly peeking in - looking at women cooking in the kitchen and kids watching TV in the lounge - but tonight it seems as if there is no one behind these walls; as if everyone is either asleep or sitting quietly respecting this transformation of the season, and bowing down to the laws of nature - or perhaps they are all in as much awe as I am.

I suppose that's the whole point of the snow: it pauses everything. When it falls, take a breath, and then hold that breath to marvel at it's beauty; to acknowledge it's power. I suppose this is nature's way to tell us to calm down, to breathe, to reflect, to just pause, even if for a moment, but to just slow down. My, oh my. What a miracle this snow is.