Silent Night
It's snowing where I am. It's been snowing since 1:00 this afternoon. Since our evening concert was cancelled (along with class) in the middle of the dress rehearsal, I had a bit of free time. So I went with a couple of friends to a restaurant and ate "lunch" at 3:00 or so. The food joint isn't far from campus. We all drove, and the half-mile drive through the falling snow and panicking drivers took about 30 minutes.
The restaurant has big glass windows (almost floor to ceiling), so I was able to sit and watch the flakes fall. I'm at a loss to explain why snow effects me so profoundly. I know that when snow is falling, it quiets my mind. Since I've been home this afternoon, I've opened all my blinds. When I walk into various rooms for food, drinks, papers, or whatever, I run the very real risk of being captivated by what's going on outside my window. I spent ten minutes looking out the window earlier without even realizing what I was doing.
And since you read this entry at your own speed (not the speed at which I write it), you can't tell that I just did it again. I padded out to the kitchen in search of something to drink and got stuck at the window on my way back.
There are no people out. No cars on the roads. No animals wandering. Just streetlights, one after another around the curve until they become indistinct in the snow haze. When I look out, I feel myself relaxing in a way that almost nothing else allows me to do. There is a timeless feeling, watching the snow fall, as though it could go on forever.
I love the sound. Regular sounds get absorbed and curtailed almost as they are created. Shouts fall to the ground exhausted before making it across the street. A new sound eclipses everything. The sizzle of snow falling on snow, like sand poured from an hourglass. It's never loud. Just constant. Omnipresent. Supporting. And my body feels different. Eventually I realize it is because for the length of that moment, I have no worries. There is no stress. There are no expectations. My mind is tranquil.
To me, it is an experience most profound. It resonates in me; I feel it in my soul, as I would the wind on my face. Perhaps this is what happens to others when they have a religious moment, or get to the beautiful beach on a fantastic summer day, or fall in love with someone who makes the knees weak: it's an experience that brings acknowledgement of the enormity of the moment.
The restaurant has big glass windows (almost floor to ceiling), so I was able to sit and watch the flakes fall. I'm at a loss to explain why snow effects me so profoundly. I know that when snow is falling, it quiets my mind. Since I've been home this afternoon, I've opened all my blinds. When I walk into various rooms for food, drinks, papers, or whatever, I run the very real risk of being captivated by what's going on outside my window. I spent ten minutes looking out the window earlier without even realizing what I was doing.
And since you read this entry at your own speed (not the speed at which I write it), you can't tell that I just did it again. I padded out to the kitchen in search of something to drink and got stuck at the window on my way back.
There are no people out. No cars on the roads. No animals wandering. Just streetlights, one after another around the curve until they become indistinct in the snow haze. When I look out, I feel myself relaxing in a way that almost nothing else allows me to do. There is a timeless feeling, watching the snow fall, as though it could go on forever.
I love the sound. Regular sounds get absorbed and curtailed almost as they are created. Shouts fall to the ground exhausted before making it across the street. A new sound eclipses everything. The sizzle of snow falling on snow, like sand poured from an hourglass. It's never loud. Just constant. Omnipresent. Supporting. And my body feels different. Eventually I realize it is because for the length of that moment, I have no worries. There is no stress. There are no expectations. My mind is tranquil.
To me, it is an experience most profound. It resonates in me; I feel it in my soul, as I would the wind on my face. Perhaps this is what happens to others when they have a religious moment, or get to the beautiful beach on a fantastic summer day, or fall in love with someone who makes the knees weak: it's an experience that brings acknowledgement of the enormity of the moment.
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