Snow

It's the quiet that alerts you, as you wake in the middle of the night. On everyday nights the road outside is never completely silent, no matter what time you wake. But there is an eerie hush as you lie, listening to the muffled air as no cars pass.

The sliver of light on the ceiling is more luminous, paler, hinting at the sudden change. Sliding out of warm sheets, feet feel around on the chilly carpet for slippers. Even the cold has a muffled edge this night.

The dining room window uncurtained reveals a glowing snow scene in the garden. The tiled floor radiates ice up through the soles of your feet, racing through the veins in your legs, placing you out in the whitened grass as you stare, entranced. The first snow of Winter always returns you to a childhood self, mouth watering at the prospect of a familiar world made strange. Adventures call through the glass, the darkness of night no longer frightening, lit up with white crystal illuminations.

Back in bed, you can't sleep, smiling. A cautious car slushes past the window slowly. Solitary explorer in the becalmed forest of a snow-bound city night.