Late this morning, the snow began to fall. We have not had a proper snowfall this winter and today seemed desperate to make up for that. It has been snowing for close to 8 hours while the world has transformed. And quieted.

I know I have written before about the profound silence of snowfall and the peace that it brings me. Today, when I got home with my kiddo, I let them thump their way upstairs while I took my sweet time divesting myself of my things. When I heard their bedroom door shut and knew my husband to also be safely ensconced in his office, I pulled my arm warmers back on, wrapped up in a fleece shawl, and slipped out the front door to sit on our porch to watch the snow fall.

As I sat there, I let the silence of the snow wrap around me. After hours, days, a week of words and movement and change and work, I deeply needed silence. Even if just for a few moments. So I sat very still and watched my little neighborhood become Narnia as the outside lamps and lights of the houses turned on amidst the swirling snow. Snowfalls can make the familiar magical, the rush slower, the busy calmer. I welcomed it, breathed it in.

I sat there until my fingers grew cold beneath my shawl and the wool of my arm-warmers. But, before I could move to go inside, I was surprised by a flash of color through the white. Bright red. A cardinal. Then another shot by to join the first in the neighbors’ tree, shaking the snow from branch to ground as they hopped from limb to limb.

I smiled to myself and could not help but think, a story line unfurling in my mind like the runner on a dining room table. “Cardinals love the snow. They love to splash and flap in it, washing their ruby feathers until they shine and their color glows bright against the stark white. They are one of Winter’s favorite ornaments.”