The snow is coming down in waves of white. The sky is the same blank, somber grey it always is when it snows. I feigned a reason to go out, and bundled myself in my scarf and overcoat.
I wanted to experience the stillness of a snowfall – but the cars in the parking lot were choking me with fumes and blaring their horns. I kept my face turned to the sky, and traced the outline of the trees along the clouds. I was covered in white when I returned.
When I first moved back to the mountains ten years ago, I would take my walkman out into a snowstorm and lay on my back on the wooden bridge across the creek, watching the snow rush to my face while listening to Clannad. I never missed a chance to go out into the snow – I wanted it to fall into me and consume me. I wanted its whiteness and its cold purity.