The Sound of Snowmelt

Wintry Wonderings

A simple small snowfall graced this place. Silence fell to earth and birthed a feeling in me – a rhyme with the great themes of time. Something sacred amidst the fluttering snow, a stillness of mind and beating of heart. Cleared of cluttering sound and cluttered ground, winter became not fall or spring. Cold came too biting my face, wind seeping in cracks of corners and threads. A celebration of season seeking no reason.

Now the snowmelt floods my heart. Stored energy freed by the urgency of heat. Neat no more, I hear the sounds of my city churn me back into the click and the clack. Into seasonless time, slave to the watch, revealed again. Days slip away into the grey, as I attend to pixels and papers, productively returning to that seasonless song, separate from cycles and movements great and small.

Yet with the word right here, the snowfall is still near when I care enough to hear. How writing can take us to a natural place fascinates me. I am grateful for this reflection, this reminder to close my eyes and listen to the seasons inside. To let the world outside be and trust the nature of which I am a part to see. And to stillness and silence return, to a simple small snowfall gracing this place.