It’s 7AM. It’s dark. It’s quiet. The normal bustle and sounds of activity that fill the air are muffled. This is a snow storm before the plows.
White covers everything. The wind is illustrated in white. The picture changes every minute. And it is quiet.
A quiet so deep it is usually experienced in the country, not in a metropolis like New York. Snow is the one thing that seems to bring the noise to its knees.
As I sit in the dark, I enjoy these last bits of silence. My fingers on the keyboard break it and pollute it. Sounds of plows and snow blowers are creeping into the silent space. Eventually it will be no longer and the noises will creep back in.
Until I must surrender to the sound, I will return to the dark and soak in this rare silence.