I couldn't tell at first that it was snowing. It just looked like a ripple in the fabric of reality, and the tiny flakes were more like mist than snow.
The fire in the hearth flared up and burned brighter, and within seconds the ripple had become a full swirling snow storm, driven by the North Wind.
I bundled up in layers of wool and dug out my pruning shears, intending to cut some greenery for the approaching Midwinter holiday. Then stepping out of my door into the swirling snow, I headed to the forest along the back end of my property, where years ago I had planted a Holly tree.
I threaded my way carefully through the field, not wanting to even leave a footprint to disturb this work of nature as the snow began to transform the landscape. And as I drew closer to the wooded area, a curious thing happened. The swirling snow seemed to go into slow motion, and the North Wind seemed to calm. The world became very still. The usual local sounds had ceased, and even my footsteps seemed almost completely silent.
Full story available in the 2017 Winter edition of Hearth & Heart at Pegana Press
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