Wednesday, February 7


If you've been following this blog since early this summer, you may remember my post of a failed scholarship application to Marquette. In it, I had to make a list. I don't precisely remember what the theme was, something along the lines of the most important things I saw in this world, but there had to be seven items in it. One of them was the cold. I would like to expand upon that entry a little because the word limit on the essay didn't allow for a proper examination into one of the more beautiful aspects of the cold, snow.

It snowed Saturday evening. It was gorgeous. It began early and very lightly. You could hardly see the individual flakes they were so small. As it grew later though, the flakes came together, forming ones large enough to watch on their entire trip through the air, following their erratic paths to earth. Not that their beauty ends there.

Freshly fallen snow is clean and renewing. Walking through a snow fall, when you can see traces of only your steps, I do not know how to explain the feeling. There may be an experience of adventure as you are the first to see this new, fleeting scene or a feeling that but a sense of calm comes upon me.

In the winter too, it is quiet. What little sound is made by those animals too tough to hibernate or migrate south, is abosorbed by the snow creating a fragile silence, one that makes you take softer steps and kills any desire to shout that you might preserve the delicate quiet a little longer.

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