A silent shroud of snow falls over everything in a white fluffy layer like a freshly washed linen sheet that billows high above the bed and slowly descends to the mattress in a flat plane stretching from corner to corner to be tucked neatly beneath each edge.
The glittering mantle offers a kind of innocence in its wake, a renewal as most of life comes to a standstill, muffling the bustle and rush of the holiday season just as it had switched gears from Thanksgiving to Christmas. It’s as if God is saying, stop, breathe in for just a moment, think of what this holiday season truly means.
Most hoard up in their dens, light their fires, bake cookies and watch from their windows as the piles deepen. Children soon frolic in it, shriek in joy as they glide down hills until their fingers and toes are numb, and mother calls offering hot chocolate and dry socks.
Others are forced out into the tumult. They forge a trail through the drifts and pray for footing on the ice below. Holding tight to the armrest, passengers watch as the snow flicks off the tires, and wonder how deep the ditch might be.
If no more falls to mask the trails, the snow eventually loses its innocent luster. Footprints from man and beast scar the virginal blanket. The snowplow and sand dispensers darken the passages.
Ultimately, the temperatures will rise, the sun will peek through the clouds, and the white shawls hugging the trees will drip away, as the layer below fades and seeps into the earth. The sleds and snow shovels will be stowed in the garage, and the rush to Christmas will gain momentum once again.
Another snow may come and go, and before we know it, the crocuses and tulips will be pushing through the newly green lawns to start the process once again.