it’s a fresh falling of snow on the day the year is born.
there’s a quiet borne of release, snowflake dropped from cloud, blown about by the wind till it settles softly on the ground.
the quiet, the white, begets a stillness.
oh, to be still.
to be still and to know.
in the morning i will brush the white off my car as though snow were a monolithic blanket instead of minutely constructed, tiny flake by tiny flake.
as though it had not fallen, small white crystal, to lay its own quiet hallelujah among the chorus of glory upon creation.