And in the moment, my mind was silent.
It's snowing again. Much heavier than it was yesterday.
It's beautiful. Feathery and large and light. And it tastes wonderful.
And I'm dripping snowmelt all over the table and that's cold down the back of my neck!
02:34 am: Dan and I just went for a walk, just around the block. So, so lovely. So quiet. The crunching of the powdery snow under my feet almost feels like I'm destroying something, but I do love to walk in new snow. We looked back at our footprints: his were straight, one in front of the other but mine wandered all over the place with my feet pointing in different directions to each other.
You could see the shadows of the falling snow in the light from the street lamps on the snow laying at least an inch thick on the ground. There was quiet and beauty and everything looked almost otherworldly with all the imperfections covered. It really was one of those moments, a lot of moments, to just...inhale, if that's the word I'm looking for.
I think in words, in pictures with captions. I translate to myself, from experience to description. But I was quiet and...there was just the feeling; the delight, the wonder, that just existed, on its own, without connotations, and could not be, still cannot be, adequately described.
We went on the roundabout, because I've always wanted to walk on a roundabout; it's just one of those places that everyone passes and no-one stops at. I tipped my head back and looked up at the sky and the flakes were getting fatter again, whispering as they landed on my shoulders, and there were more and more coming, endless, appearing from nowhere and falling from a grey-orange sky.
I did the same as we reached home again. And just like on the roundabout, I felt I might fall backwards, because there was no ground, no balance, just the dizzying eternity of snowflakes in the sky.
It's inconceivable to think that those snowflakes are all different. My mind simply cannot visualise it; it's like large numbers, just a fact, words that cannot truly be understood. A whole new level of beauty that was quite invisible, but what we could see was quite quite enough. (I think they do all taste different though.)
Enough were falling that, when we walked back along our road, our footprints heading the other way were merely shadows.
It's beautiful. Feathery and large and light. And it tastes wonderful.
And I'm dripping snowmelt all over the table and that's cold down the back of my neck!
02:34 am: Dan and I just went for a walk, just around the block. So, so lovely. So quiet. The crunching of the powdery snow under my feet almost feels like I'm destroying something, but I do love to walk in new snow. We looked back at our footprints: his were straight, one in front of the other but mine wandered all over the place with my feet pointing in different directions to each other.
You could see the shadows of the falling snow in the light from the street lamps on the snow laying at least an inch thick on the ground. There was quiet and beauty and everything looked almost otherworldly with all the imperfections covered. It really was one of those moments, a lot of moments, to just...inhale, if that's the word I'm looking for.
I think in words, in pictures with captions. I translate to myself, from experience to description. But I was quiet and...there was just the feeling; the delight, the wonder, that just existed, on its own, without connotations, and could not be, still cannot be, adequately described.
We went on the roundabout, because I've always wanted to walk on a roundabout; it's just one of those places that everyone passes and no-one stops at. I tipped my head back and looked up at the sky and the flakes were getting fatter again, whispering as they landed on my shoulders, and there were more and more coming, endless, appearing from nowhere and falling from a grey-orange sky.
I did the same as we reached home again. And just like on the roundabout, I felt I might fall backwards, because there was no ground, no balance, just the dizzying eternity of snowflakes in the sky.
It's inconceivable to think that those snowflakes are all different. My mind simply cannot visualise it; it's like large numbers, just a fact, words that cannot truly be understood. A whole new level of beauty that was quite invisible, but what we could see was quite quite enough. (I think they do all taste different though.)
Enough were falling that, when we walked back along our road, our footprints heading the other way were merely shadows.