There’s a certain kind of quiet that comes with a soft blanket of snow that swirls easily down and settles where it lands, making cars and mailboxes and boxwoods stand out like so many cakes adorned with a fat layer of icing.

I like it best in the woods, where straggling leaves wear white hats and stark branches double their thickness beneath the cold blanket of snow.

We don’t get much snow where I live, so we soak it in while we can.

Amid the silence of the trees, God shouts.

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