The snow that has fallen all day has finally decided to stick. Earlier, flakes melted as they hit the earth. Now they cling to trees, adorning the bare branches. The light coming from the house illuminates the trees from below, turning my yard into a latticed igloo. It is so still, so peaceful, so beautiful.
It has snowed all night. Even though there is no light, the world is still a luminous pearl-gray. A lone plow scrapes its way through the streets, its light flashing amber across the silent lawns, making way for the traffic that will come in a few short hours.
Though the streets are clear (for the most part), there is no traffic. The neighborhood is still hushed. School will open two hours later, so the buses haven’t started yet. The sun will be rising soon and the light is beginning to come.
The yard that was once dim and gray is now bright. It looks like a bride, adorned in virginal white and delicate lace. A random squirrel scampers. A lone bird sits on the fence. Not a footstep spoils the pristine covering.
A slight wind has begun to blow. It shakes the treetops, dislodging the tufts of snow. Like dominoes, the snow falls from the peaks toppling more from the lower branches until it finally falls to the street below. The road disappears into the tree-created blizzard. As it falls into the sunshine, it looks like a sheer drape has been drawn.
The morning is gone. Traffic now moves freely along the wet street. No longer pure, the snow now shows signs of humans. The cars are scraped. The walkways shoveled.
As the day has warmed up, so have the trees. They have shrugged off the shawls of white. Branches now stand in stark contrast to clear blue sky.
The night has returned. The darkness hides the yard that was once glowing with nature’s beauty. No photograph can capture the image. There is no light. The dark is so deep that the flash is sucked into it’s depth.
Seventeen hours of observation. Not one moment was boring to watch. I have captured it here to enjoy at my leisure. It will remind me of the winter while I swelter in the summer. When I hear news that makes me doubt the existence of God, His beautiful work will be documented as proof. And when I am saddened, I will remember the day that I was quiet, and happy watching Mother Nature’s handiwork.