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The crisp night air hit the back of Luka’s throat harshly, catching his breath before he could finish inhaling fully. He admired Winter for many reasons. He admired the gracefulness of the snow drifting aimlessly from the clouds. He admired the cool breeze for its persistence, though the chill crawls through his spine. But mostly, the musician in him admired the special kind of sound that came with the first falling of snow. Not sound necessarily, but the silence, snow silence.
As his foot lands in a puff of snow, the only sound he can hear is his breath, and the jingle of the chain dangling from his pocket. With each successive step, more of the same. Snow silence is a lonely silence. In the dark of the night, during the first big snow, when everyone is huddled away in their homes. Seldom a car passes on the street, but the intrusions are few, and far in between. He imagines that this is what true isolation must sound like. The muffled footsteps, the foggy breath, the jingle of a chain, a passing car, and silence.
Snow silence is a thoughtful silence. The quiet around him seems to urge his thoughts to speak louder, take up more presence. “What does he have to do tomorrow?” “How is it so quiet?” “Do i have homework?” “I’m running late.” He shivers as a gust crawls by, parting his hair in awkward angles, cutting a chill straight to his core. The longer he walks, the more thoughts seem to clutter his mind and the harder it is to discern them from one another. It’s just white noise now. More snow, just a different kind.
Snow silence is an anxious silence. With thoughts running rampant, every movement, every feeling, every noise makes his heart leap with fear. The silence is unnerving and untrustworthy. If his own steps are so quiet, who’s to say someone else isn’t creeping behind him? That a burglar might be hiding behind the next corner? The next car that drives by makes him jump a bit. He shakes his head, long hair brushing over his face and eyes. He feels paranoid.
He arrives home, grateful to make it safely, and hesitates as he approaches the door. The jangle of his keys marks the break of the silence. Already the sounds of warmth, mirth, and joy seep through the cracks of the windows with rays of light, marking the celebration of family and friends. Smells of baked treats, roasted meals, and a warm fire leak through fireplace smoke, enticing his taste buds. He turns back for a moment, towards the dark, empty night. The street lamp shines a muddy orange over a bench covered with a blanket of snow, undisturbed, still. It sparkles in the low light, brightening the starless, clouded night. The scene is inviting, calm and peaceful. And silent.
He drags a deep, freezing breath in, wincing as the cold air hits his throat in full force. How could he capture that moment? That stillness? That tranquility? The scene is perfectly set for a moving composition. He closes his eyes, peering into his own thoughts and feelings. For the first time in a long while, no melody fills his ears. Just serene, snowy silence.
He frowns, the corners of his lips pulling tightly in the dry air. There’s a poetic nuance to the silence in the snow. What a deep piece that would be, to capture the anxiety, the stillness, the unsettling loneliness and the welcoming gentleness of isolation. Yet nothing crosses his mind that could begin to capture those feelings.
With a heavy sigh, he turns his key and pushes through the door, sounds and sights of warm, welcoming cheer invite him in. For now, the snow silence will have to wait.