The last bit of sun fights brilliantly before the snow falls. The fight doesn’t last long, though. At this time of year, it never does. I’m afraid it ended rather badly for the sun. Again. After being overtaken by thugs, he was completely knocked out.
|The calm before the storm.|
Then the snow began to fall, slowly but steadily. The clouds with character and shape that fought the battle left just as quickly as the sun and were completely replaced by a perfectly gray sky with absolutely no variation whatsoever. If it were a painting, we would all point at it and talk about how inexperienced the artist was. But it’s not a painting, and as I write, a world of stark gray encompasses everything as if a child spilled his watercolors by accident. Or on purpose.
But snow brings the silence, and that is a good thing. For some reason, everything else seems to behave itself while the snow is falling. Well, except for the wind, but you can hardly blame it. If you had that much confetti, you’d want to play with it too. We have to be realistic here.
After all these years, I still get a small thrill every time the first snowflake of a storm begins to fall. I like to think that I’ve actually seen the very first snowflake of the storm, and that makes me special. To be chosen by the snow. Not everyone can say that. Add to it that this has happened more than once--many times, in fact--and you might even begin to suspect that the snow and I had a secret relationship. It’s a lie. But there are rumors.