New snow

I’d almost forgotten the smell of snow in the nighttime forest. It’s crisp, almost tingly, and comfortably moist. Too long it’s been.


I’d almost forgotten the silence of a nighttime forest that’s blanketed in new snow. Sounds from nearby seem muted, but distant ones are enhanced. I can hear the train whistle at the crossing seven miles away, but the leaves no longer rustle at a deer’s step or the raccoon’s.

Overhead, the sky is still overcast, but the clouds are breaking up into smaller clouds, chunks of gray like rotten ice, with stars shining in between, like water flowing.

The full moon shines, hooded and caped by clouds, overshadowed by the expanse of white beneath.

Tonight, even the owls are silent.