Snow
I think this'll sound strange to anyone who's used to it, but: I love snow. I really do.
There's 7 inches piled up outside right now. I come from a place where there's no snow, year round. My parents are too close to the coast. It's cool and wet all year, but no snow.
To me... snow is... it's almost like thunder and lightening, the kind that pounds and rattles against window panes. Snow makes me love homes. The safety and warmth, the marvel of how cozy houses are. How lucky I am.
And snow makes the world so quiet, so still, no leaves and grass rustling. It makes me feel extra alive, if that makes sense. But the silence also makes me feel safe and hidden. I think the world should feel dead or something, but instead it feels like everything is resting, hiding, and I'm the only one being brash, making such obvious marks on the perfection when I wander outside.
There's 7 inches piled up outside right now. I come from a place where there's no snow, year round. My parents are too close to the coast. It's cool and wet all year, but no snow.
To me... snow is... it's almost like thunder and lightening, the kind that pounds and rattles against window panes. Snow makes me love homes. The safety and warmth, the marvel of how cozy houses are. How lucky I am.
And snow makes the world so quiet, so still, no leaves and grass rustling. It makes me feel extra alive, if that makes sense. But the silence also makes me feel safe and hidden. I think the world should feel dead or something, but instead it feels like everything is resting, hiding, and I'm the only one being brash, making such obvious marks on the perfection when I wander outside.