there is something so wonderfully heartwarming and yet also deeply melancholic about the quiet beauty of the first snowfall. the lure of pure white, blanketing the muted browns and already barren landscape as if giving permission to hibernate and rest. marking the change of seasons and yet also distilling that change into one silent and suspended moment. the lure of pure white when it is still magic, the air fresh and crisp and remarkably warm, before the drudgery of the northern season unapologetically sets in.
i wish i could have stood in that reverent moment, looking out at my favourite snow-covered spruce trees, just a little while longer....
