There is something about snow. It serves as the cherry blossoms of winter, filling the air and eyes with the softness of dreams past and things hoped for. If the snow is light enough, each small branch can hold snowflakes to its very end and if it stays cold enough the sunrise light rays just melt it enough to glisten like wet glass. The gray-brown dead of winter seems to somehow be resurrected by the layers of white adornment. Small, fat, brown birds make their way to the cherry tree in the front lawn and congregate for casual conversation and a light meal. Their frumpy dark chests contrasted against the clean ground. Life that continues on through winter and somehow grows quainter during the short periods of snow.
It makes me think about this time--where I am at now. This seemingly winterous abyss of time. A good Nor'easter' has come blowing through and brightened the path for the actual blossoms soon to come.
When there's a long rest in music, musicians take the chance to breathe and take in the moment. I think snow is that rest for God. Because when it snows, it seems as if all life slows down.
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