The first snowfall started at 3 am. The neighborhood was still dark, barely lit by the soft glow of street lamps. It went on until the first touch of sun met the snow covered branches, and when the neighborhood woke up it looked out of the window, and held its breath. The silence that the snow brought stole the neighborhood’s voice, so it could only watch the pale sky and watch for more snowflakes to dance down to touch the earth. But none came.
Nevertheless, there was silence for the day, occasionally interrupted by a dog barking, muffled by the snow, or the sound of tires munching at the snow covered roads. The loudest sound, however, was the dripping of melting snow in the sun.
A middle aged man walked down his driveway in rainboots and a heavy woolen sweater. He held a broom to wipe away the leftover snow that the plow before him had forgotten. Stopping at the end of the driveway, he listened to the dripping in the air, watched the pale pink sky framed by white trees. He looked at the paved roads, the build up of now grey mush at the ends of the lawns, hiding the curbs. He felt the winter air pinch his cheeks, prick at his scalp, burn his ears.
He looked down at the stop sign at the end of the street, and gazed at the red sun dipping below the trees behind it. It was bright, its rays touching the tips of his rain boots. He gazed at the sun until his eyes burned, until he started to see blotches of purples and blues and blacks in front of the sun. Until then he looked away. He tore his eyes away from the sun, checked the empty mailbox, and started to turn back and walk up his driveway.
The question hung in the air, heavy as snow that weighed the branches down, making them bend and dip and touch the blanketed earth. The snow had fallen so heavily, so quickly.
What did mother nature want to cover up so badly? Was it the pristine lawns, mowed and plucked and pruned to perfection? Or was it Mother nature sending her child to bed, pulling the soft downy white blanket across the bed of earth? Was she tucking in the trees, giving them pillows for their branches to lie upon? Or was she covering her child’s imperfections, hiding away the scars that mankind had marked upon her children- giving buzz cuts to her children’s hair, uprooting their limbs, tattooing them with gravel and cement?
The first snowfall always made the neighborhood silent. The silence drew them out from their houses, made middle aged men walk down their driveways to wonder at the snow. The silence drew their attention to feel the winter air nip at their exposed faces, and made them lift their eyes up at the pale sky. The silence that the snow brought never spoke for them, but the dripping that came afterwards did.
And it said....