Snowfur: Tm

So go ahead. Look out the window tonight. If the air is still, if the flakes are fat, if the world goes quiet—

I remember thinking, The world is starting over. snowfur tm

I’ve started calling it .

Three months from now, when you are stuck in traffic in a humid April rain, you will close your eyes for half a second. You will remember the sound of nothing. You will remember the weight of a silent sky. So go ahead

It arrives at dusk, when the streetlights just begin to bloom their orange halos. The flakes are impossibly large—the size of a baby’s fingernail—but they fall at the speed of a sigh. There is no wind. The air is so cold that it smells like iron and frozen pine needles, but somehow, it doesn’t bite . I’ve started calling it

There is a specific kind of snow that falls only a few times in a lifetime. It isn’t the frantic, sideways sleet that stings your cheeks. It isn’t the wet, heavy slush that soaks through your boots before you reach the mailbox.