The Quiet

Snow makes the world feel so vast and quiet.  Even in it's chill the blanket over the earth feels oddly solemn and secure.  Safe.

So, instead of braving snow.  As opposed to pulling on our mukluks and crushing into it we stare at it through window panes.  We hold warm exposed cups of coffee letting them rest next to our lip and below the tip of our noses.  We make it all Courier and Ives.  

Sometimes we let our cheeks fall against the cool glass and stare at the icicles sideways, anticipating tiny drips down.  We draw upon deep sighs and our breath broadcast in front of our faces.

Mostly we dwell in the supreme quiet.