Saturdays are the hardest for me, I have an early morning yoga class. And so every Saturday morning there is almost always an intense battle between the sleep-a-little-more and the get-your-ass-up factions. Both sides have fairly convincing arguments and the debate turns deeply philosophical pretty quickly. Fortunately the get-your-ass-up faction always wins as by then I’m wide awake and can’t possibly go back to sleep. Nice strategy!

As I stumble outside half asleep half awake trying to make it in time, I’m pleasantly surprised by the small aimlessly drifting snow flakes, taking their time dancing in the wind before melting away on the wet pavement.

Our yoga room is a glass walled room on the third floor looking at a cul-de-sac on one side and a small Japanese styled garden with towering evergreen trees and a solitary gazebo on the other. As though waiting for our cue, as we start our sun salutations, no sun for us just a dense white sky, the sky breaks open, the snow comes down with a purpose now and the world is crowded with falling pieces of the sky swirling conquering the land with it’s whiteness. The fields are the first to go, and then the parked cars, the fall foliage, the praying trees with their leafless branches, the streets and the pavements hold up, they aren’t the type to give up easily.

Soon it’ll all be over and there will be a white calmness. Unlike the first summer rain the first winter snow does not bring along any distinct smell. It only brings a beautiful silence.