The silence of snow

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London, ON
November 2019
This photo originally shared on Instagram

Freshly fallen snow always seems to put the world on mute.

I could probably explain the physics of it, but this isn't a science thing. Think heart, not head.

It hit me the first moment I stepped outside with the wonderdog last night. She, of course, sprinted to the nearest drift and buried her snout as deep as it would go.

I stood back and listened. Because outside of her jingling collar, there was nothing. The pristine landscape of white seemed to have swallowed up every sound. The usual cacaphony of urban life had seemingly vanished, replaced by the gentle thrum of singular thoughts in my head.

It was glorious, the kind of thing I wish would last indefinitely, but knew would probably be over and done by the time we circled the block.

And sure enough, it was. Traffic slowly returned, and the muffled beauty of a stunningly painted neighborhood soon gave way to the returning soundtrack of modern, rushed life. Tires on wet pavement. Revving engines. Horns. Relentless white noise. All of it rushed back in to fill the void, as if someone turned the volume clockwise once again.

Whoever's playing with the volume, and why, you only seem to notice it when it's taken away for a bit. If only that moment of blanketed silence could last longer. If only we paid closer attention to the sounds that shape our days. Or, in this case, nights.

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