Silent snow. That's the first that I notice how the world is muffled by the insulation of the whiteness. The air is still and so is my mind when the snow has made the world go quiet. A winter day can almost seem appealing, no matter how cold, no matter how the temperature tells me the branches on the trees are brittle and slowly freezing. I look out my wind from the darkness and wonder Is that what it's like to get old?
I dress myself with three sweaters over my long underwear. I cannot take the cold any longer -- not that I liked it when I was a child. Now it seems to want to settle in me and stay there. Yet, I'm draw outside as if the outside is really where my inside is. I want to be part of the quiet. I open the back and walk to hear, to hear the silence. The blessed sound of air as still as before the world was born.
My feet crunch on the frozen snow. It's an affront. I stop. The bright, white light hurts my light blues. I close them and hear a lovely melody of the softest tones. It rolls and ranges slightly higher and my spirits sing along with it. I think of how brown eyes have more pigment and smile knowing that my blue eyes so match the scene I'm in, that I don't mind waiting a second longer. I do and then.
I open my blue eyes to take in the bluest sky of winter.
The cold and silent snow, like life, like love, can be breathtaking and painful in it's stark silent beauty. It needs patience and eyes that want to see it.
--me strauss Letting me strauss
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