Be Still | Chapter 1, Snow

This time of year seems to come with lists of must-haves and must-dos, seeing who can buy the better present or cook the best turkey. As adults, we’re busy vigorously scrapping the ice off our cars, making numerous trips to the grocery store, and trying to remember which cousin is allergic to peanuts.

Without any warning, the pressure of the season can leave us empty and worn thin, climbing into bed with a busy mind and exhausted muscles. We can hurry through festivities and parties, never stopping to enjoy a single moment, never letting any joy seep in.

A lover of snow, I found myself stepping outside a few nights ago to let the first few flakes fall down on my tongue, wetting my face. I stood there, in my slippers and sweatshirt, staring up at the calm night sky as it dropped little icy diamonds down onto the world, and I suddenly realized how quiet it was.

You know the type of quiet where you suddenly realize how loud your day has been? When you didn’t even notice the car that’s been revving its engine all afternoon, the pesky low growl from the fridge that won’t go away, the neighbors letting their dog bark himself horse. It’s all been working together to create the sounds of life, the ins and outs of the ordinary day, until now.

I was struck by the beautiful hush that seemed to fall over our neighborhood. And, really, all that had changed was snow. Quiet inches laying fluffy piles along the sidewalks and front doors, a surprise for the kids down the street when they woke up for school. I felt myself breathe, really breathe, in that moment. Filling my lungs with crisp, cold oxygen, letting my shoulders relax and my jaw unclench.

A tiny, small moment where joy found a way to make itself known in the stillness.

Life comes at you so fast, each year more of a whirlwind than the last. Days fly off the calendar, days blending into weeks, and soon winter boots and mittens are traded for flip flops and sunscreen. We’ll soon be planning July 4th parties and perfecting our summer lemonade recipe, the coats forgotten in the hallway closet as we turn up the air conditioner and drive with the windows down.

Soak it in, friends.

As the world receives each snowfall with open arms, gladly letting each flake slowly melt into the warm, dark earth, let yourself breathe deep in each moment. May the swirl of activity and hustle and bustle fall away to the quiet hush of a fresh blanket of snow, each flake a drop that quietly nourishes the roots and seeds, the worms and nutrients underneath.

The snowfall is so silent,

so slow,

bit by bit, with delicacy

it settles down on the earth

and covers over the fields.

The silent snow comes down

white and weightless;

snowfall makes no noise,

falls as forgetting falls,

flake after flake.

- “The Snowfall Is So Silent”

Miguel de Unamuno

Article by, Reeve Klatt | Photography by,