The silence of the snow falling all around,
The way each flake almost breathes as it flies past me.
The wind stops howling and each individual snowflake, so unique and different, like every finger print to ever exist, they all fall to the ground.
It’s as if everything stops moving for that moment; even the world refuses to spin on its axis and the thick blanket of clouds above us that seems to have no end stays perfectly still.
I tilt my head back, stick my tongue out and try and taste a little bit of this wonder and, after years of repeating this silly ritual, am still baffled that snow doesn’t really taste of anything.
Your footprints make a crunch, crunch, crunch in the white sheet upon the ground as the snowflakes are moulded closer together, letting people know that someone was here before, that this world is connected by those who came before, so we are not alone.
In this white, wintry world we are not alone.