the sound of snow falling
by bam
it is december’s gift. a world now hushed, now left to whispers. a world caked with white meringue. as if all the eggs, sans yolks, and all the cream of tartar were whisked into the froth that kept on coming.
whole clouds of it fell last night. started with a flake or two, barely noticed, in the gray of afternoon. by dinner time, the limbs, the walks, the feeders for the birds, had lost their definition, were taking on a girth that might have made them groan.
except the world was wordless.
the world, when i slipped on my snow-exploring shoes, zipped up my puffy coat, was so silenced by the spilling from the sky, i could, without straining, make out the sound of snow falling.
it’s a sound, quite truly, that makes your ears perk up. and your soul, too.
unlike the pit-a-pat of rain, it is wholly unexpected. wind we know is noisy. humidity, except for moaning of the ones who find it hard to bear, is not. but that comes as no surprise.
the sound of snow falling, then, is singularly soothing and startling. it is a titillation for the ears, a tickling of the nerves that makes them, well, stand at full attention.
a sound not heard so often, certainly not in months and months, it came like water to a thirsty traveler. and i could not get enough.
i cocked my head. stood still as still can be. i took it in in gulps.
while drinking in the pit-pit-pit of falling bits of icy snow, i opened wide my eyes. without moving a whole muscle–save for the ones that shift my eyeballs–i was a machine in complete and total operation.
except the machine–the hearing, seeing parts–served one function only: the talking to my soul.
there is a stillness in the first of every winter’s snow that feels to me like coming home. it is in that unrippled place, that place where quiet is complete and whole, that i, and maybe you, feel as if the hand of God is reaching down, is showing me the way through snowy woods.
sometimes, too, i think i hear the sound of God, putting gentle finger to soft lips, shushing.
shhhhhhh, i hear God say. be still. be filled with only what is sacred.
what else, i wonder, could slow a world that can’t move fast enough? who else can keep the cars off of the road? the cell phones from incessant baying?
there was not a soul outside last night, not when i was there at least, and i was there for quite a while.
this morning, then, is quiet squared.
not even snow is making sound. it is simply, i suppose, taking in its new perspective on the world. used to be way up high, now it’s down where mortals play. and it looks intent on staying put.
not a bird is anywhere in sight. i think they know what the weather seers know, only without all the supersonic radar. i think all my feathered friends are safely tucked in cozy places. at least i hope so. i would like to think the birds are in their checkered armchairs, nestled by the fire, sipping cocoa, like i intend to do, any minute here.
it is december’s gift, this early snow. it is just in time to serve its highest purpose. to shush a world in full staccato. to make us perk our ears, to see if, this blessed day, we might hear the song of snow falling.
my snow-flaked friends, your thoughts this morn…
as i type now, one boy up and fed and off to school, the world has rustled from its sheets, thrown off the blanket, the world is hardly quiet. dang. that didn’t last nearly long enough. i hear the sound–the dragon mouth–of snow blower somewhere down the street, and the scraping of the shovels against the walks. but i also hear the solitary cheep-cheep-cheep of the scarlet papa cardinal come to scout around.
did anyone else hear the snow falling last night? did you take to your boots, and like papa cardinal himself, do some scouting in your ‘hood?
oh, a word about the magic pictured up above…that’s a gingerbread house just around the corner from me. when we moved here i realized i could see it from my bedroom window. i thought, well, lucky me. if i can’t live there, i can at least spend my life gazing at its cheery face. and if i lived there, i couldn’t keep an eye on it all night or day. the streetlamp, the snowy branches, the ginger cottage strung with little lights….hope you too found it delightful. and caught, perhaps, the sound of which i write….the magic sound of flakes aflight…
pull up a chair 
We don’t get mcuh snow where I live, but I know exactly what you mean by the sound of snow falling. Nothing on earth makes me feel quite as peaceful as fresh snowfall. I could hear it when I was reading this.Thank you so much for saying hello, and telling me that you like the way I write. After reading some of pullupachair, and reading a bit about you, I have to say it’s one of the most powerful compliments I’ve ever received. To have you, Ms. Bam, tell me that I am a good writer gives me hope that I will be able to make something out of this urge to write that I’ve had for so long. It’s marvelous to meet you too, and I will keep reading as well.My auntie is a very wise woman, isn’t she?Enjoy your snow…
This MN girl at heart couldn’t be happier about the snow. I only hope it sticks for weeks and weeks and weeks! Mind you, my parents placed skis on my feet when I was 3 1/2 yrs old, so I know snow better than I know sidewalks.I too love the sound of snow.I will never forget a college friend from Montana who beyond studying to be a geographer, felt that his vocational calling in life was to don his size 14 sorel boots and stomp out a path throughout our whole campus, so all students could move freely from their dorm to their morning class. I don’t know why the college invested in snowblowers, because he did a pretty good job of making the path. I remember seeing him at breakfast with a grin on his face that he was the “first person” to make tracks in the snow in the morning.And back to the skiing. I ski raced in college and we practiced on trails in the Bread Loaf Mountains. Each and every day of practice we would ski past Robert Frost’s writing cabin and sure enough there were two paths that diverged at his cabin. As you might imagine, I often chose “the one least traveled and it has made all the difference.” May you each make fresh tracks in the snow today and if not snow, may you walk on soft ground somewhere on this beautiful earth today.
Snow is so magical indeed. My little ones were up before the sun begging to go sledding right now. I got a lot of the quiet of the snow today. Plus some crunch, from the walking. Walked the dog (a whispered pad-pad-pad) and the sled to pick up my littlest from school. She insisted we go sledding straight away, which we did, completely alone on the typically busiest piece of wintertime property in Hyde Park, our neighborhood sledding hill. Just us, just the two of us, holding hands and silently climbing the hill. On our rides down (shwishhhh), we kept tipping over and crashing (ffffitzt). Red-faced, exhilarated, snow down her collar, it didn’t matter. My little girl was overjoyed. To be with me, to be in the utterly alone quiet of the hill. The sound of snow takes on a new meaning to me today: I’ve heard it, I love it, it is a soft and full quiet, a consoling hush. And a sound which, I am certain, my little one will never hear.
i know it wasn’t your intention, not at all, but i just heard the sound of my heart cracking. i know you simply stated a fact, and i know the essence of motherhood is a capacity to gulp, swallow and move on. but as one who hears you state simple truth, often unfettered, i simply stand beside you and say, ouch. damn, i am sorry for that. i am consoled knowing, believing, her other senses–touch, vision, an inner poetry–will more than make up for the loss. at least i sure as heck hope so…..one other thing: as you tick off the things she cannot hear, the wisps of sound all around, it heightens in me a sense of the miracle that i can hear it (at least now, although some times i think the world is turning down the loudspeakers or something is making it harder to hear—and i don’t think it’s for lack of noise out there).