There is a feeling that comes with the first snowfall, a deep stillness as if the world has stopped spinning for a moment. Or maybe it is instead as if I am spinning in perfect synchronicity, the moment, a shared breath, eyes locked on the core. The snow started last night, silently padding along the edges of my senses, pulling me from a place of quiet despair into a place of deep solitude. It was one of those days yesterday, where rejection pokes at me, prodding the deep recesses of my frailty. It was one of those days when I put on music, a balm warming the seeping of my heart, as I work on projects for others, my voice surprising me as I cannot help but sing. One of those days when I am still in sweat pants by 5:00, hair half-haphazardly pulled from my face, tendrils escaping, wild as my eyes as I mutter to myself interspersed with moments of song, figuring out all the logistics of my task. Yet, as the sun gave way to night, and the snow fell so silently, the pull out of my unhappiness could not be denied. Wonder will always do that to me. 

The world was still this morning, soft within the vines of winter, so carefully wrapped on the trees. I walked on the hush, and heard my thoughts echoing within such a crystalline dream. The snow sounded like a sleeping forest as it brushed against my cheek in its graceful descent. And the darkness of my disparaging mood melted as quickly as the petaled snow in my hand. The whip of my faults faltering and finally giving way to stillness. How beautiful is the first snowfall!

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