snow was falling

I want to simply stare and marvel at the snow.

I am simply staring and marveling at the snow.

Outside my window, the scene is always shifting. There's always movement, even on this day after the blizzard.

The branches on the fir are bending and dipping with the wind, which has become a tame version of itself after the 60mph winds last night.

Snow jumps from the branches, perhaps too active of a word. Mostly the snow sits on the branches, but then a gust comes, and it's gone. I've looked away, and the scene has changed. The snow that was on the trees has joined the snow that's still falling. Falling falling falling, it just keeps coming.

The scene is always shifting, and when I opened my curtains this morning, I did it with the expectation of grandeur, which is perhaps a good way to begin every day. With the expectation of something big.

I opened the curtains as if I were a producer about to step out front to introduce my newest show, an attitude that makes little sense since I had nothing to do with this show of snow.

I closed the curtains last night, something I rarely do, precisely because I wanted that moment this morning. That moment to pull back the curtains and expect to be dazzled.

"Oh my word!" I squealed. I was a kid again.

The drifts, the patterns of wind on the snow, the utter quiet, the empty streets. The snow that was still falling. What a show.