there’s something about how big the world is
and how small you feel,
when it’s 3 o’clock in the morning,
and it’s snowing;
not windy, like a storm,
but slow,
straight from the clouds to the earth.
one, maybe, two inches of snow on the ground:
fresh. still falling.
you make the first marks on a blank canvas.
it’s so quiet,
but the crunch under your feet is so loud.
the world is asleep,
and everything is still.
it’s like you walked out into bubble,
separated from everything you’ve ever known:
just you and the earth.
it’s so bright.
too bright outside to be 3 o’clock in the morning,
but it is.
snow has the highest albedo of any substance on earth.
it reflects all the light back up at its origin
and traps it inside your little bubble.
it looks like daytime,
but it’s 3 o’clock in the morning
and you are all alone
in this big, empty, sleepy world.
the sole source of sound,
in a deathly quiet scene.
i would say you could hear a pin drop,
but you wouldn’t.