Blanket of Snow

I look out the window and see the snow falling. Like a sheet descending on the world, it wraps everything in silence. It brings down a stillness that is rarely seen. The wind, the lights, the cold...suddenly they lose all power and it's just you. You alone in the snow. You separate from the world. Just you.

As much as I may dislike the snow, the wind, the cold, I can't help but be held enthralled by the stillness of snow falling. It's a mystery, it's beautiful, it's powerful and emotional. It stills the fire and the passion that makes us angry and upset and gives us a second to just live. Somehow, everything is better. Something about it makes it all okay, even if we know it isn't, for a moment, we can just let it go and breathe. Finally, I'm calm. Finally, I'm not worried or in the middle of a breakdown.

The snow falls onto the trees, covers the bare branches. In the light cast by every lamp, the snowflakes are illuminated and glitter as they sail closer and closer to the soft padding of snow already lining the ground. The wind blows, the wonderful white powder sails around, landing in hair, on jackets, hitting the faces of people with a cold blast. Yet somehow, it is no less incredible. It's nights of snowy silence that we remember, the nights that we spend looking out the window into the cold and thinking. Everything else is gone...the remainder of the world is obliterated.

A deep breath. A soft sigh not heard by anyone. Slowly laying my head on my hands, my gaze transfixed on a point outside the window in the darkness. Nobody knows. My thoughts are mine and mine alone. All is silent. All is still. Another second ticks by, followed by another minutes, another hour. Time has ceased to matter. The world has rolled on, but it doesn't matter. Nothing does. It's just me. I'm slowly fading into oblivion, lost behind the curtain of snow falling outside. Nothing is moving, and nothing is real anymore. So that's all there is to it. It is beautiful, glorious, but most importantly, it's me. Just. Me.