“Nothing more than prettiness” — Mary Oliver

The quiet. A quiet like no other. Awe inspiring. Sublime. I wake somewhere around 3:30 this morning as my 14-year-old dog was restless. His breath was labored. He sleeps sporadically most nights as do I.

The world glowed white outside my darkened bedroom. A Nor’easter. Overnight the many inches fell. Falling still. The Vermont landscape blanketed. Muffled in white.

The silence interrupted by a lonely plow as it scrapes up and down the street. Jimmy. I suspect he has been working all night to keep our rural roads passable. Round the clock dedication to our small town.

The moisture laden snow weighs heavily. Branches burdened. Bending toward the earth. Snapping. Their essence exposed through the many inches. Wires hyperextended. The generator hums. March 14th. Spring just a few calendar days away.

“Snow was falling,

so much like stars

filling the dark trees

that one could easily imagine

its reason for being was nothing more

than prettiness.”

— Mary Oliver