Snow last night. The lamps lighting lines of windswept grey, the roads narrowed by encroaching borders, the trees collecting what the wind there placed. The contrasts of the the night were blurred.
Now it is snowing softly and without the wind. Interesting how still things are when snow is moving down. How even the smallest twigs remain immobile and accumulate wet layers, how the leaves as well.
I saw in the windless morning today a clump of snow scattered down, then saw the squirrel as it moved away. A small but noticeable event. The quiet is the louder for the sounds of dripping. There is a fog, the closeness of the clouds, a huddling of the shadows under the whiteness of the snow.