Walking newly plowed roads, bright sun on my back, sprawling fields surrounding me stretching toward muffled hills deeply covered in new snow. Quiet, but for the meditative packing of my boots. I Jump onto a stonewall and stop.
The fresh snow has yet to be marked by sleds, by saucers. The cold air yet pierced by the coming of voices. Quiet snow muffles my thoughts encases my heartbeat as I stand and watch moment upon moment folding and unfolding before me.
Quiet snow stopping time like a hand gently brushing a cheek. Quiet snow laying flat like a picture postcard.