Snowy days make the world smaller.

Flakes descend together, and make a fog that hides the rest of life from view. Clear, blue sky is replaced with a soft, grayish white. The sun is still shining, this we know, but for now its harsh light is muted.

For now, everything beyond what you can see doesn’t exist. Other continents, oceans, even other city blocks, all have vanished from view. People flit in and out of your vision like bundled shadows; splashes of color in cars and on sidewalks that disappear as swiftly as they appeared.

For now, all that is left is the cold and the quiet. Snowflakes make a gentle pattering on leaves and branches, perch on shoulders and eyelashes, and try to smooth out people’s rougher edges as they do the landscape’s. The sounds of life’s bustle are buried under snow drift and fall, replaced by the silence. The cold is an absence of and a reminder of life; for while there may only be stillness, a furor of waiting life lies just below the surface.

Soon, spring will come again. Gentle curves will regain their edges, the roar of life will return with the fire and fury of a world under cloudless skies. There will be no more mysterious gray, only revealing whiteness.

But for now, the world is quieter. We do not see everything in its blinding brilliance, and we do not hear all of life speaking at once.

For now, we will dream. We will dream of what could be, and of what may appear out the snowy fog to tantalize us with a mystery.

For now, the world is smaller.