When the sun went down around 6 last night, I put on some warmer clothes and headed out into the cold. Though the only visible proof of snowfall lay in the conical luminescence of surrounding streetlights, I knew it was snowing all around me. I walked 6 blocks to the bus stop, slowly collecting a thin layer of frost on my coat and face.

During this short trek, I felt at ease in my solitude. In the night’s tranquility I could hear freshly landed powder compact and crunch into the crevices of my boots’ rubber soles. The ground elsewhere, at that moment, posed as a white canvas; though content in its calm isolation as I was, it beckoned light, dimension, texture, and color.

Then, occasionally, a car would pass in near silence, emitting a soft golden glow before leaving behind a fresh set of tracks.  Despite these intermittent elapses of society‘s presence, I still felt alone. The cars passed naturally- placed in the scene for my sole observation.

I had found what, to me, had previously seemed unattainable: nature and civilization fused together, yet equally indifferent to each other. This was not a man-made reservoir or an uncontrollable and destructive hurricane. This was a rare, elegant balance of weather and humanity.

This was a special kind of art- the kind that simply could not be captured through a lens- or even any eye, ear, nose, or hand but my own. It was a compilation of sound, timing, temperature, and emotion that uniquely reached out and stroked the same part of the soul that only forms such as love and music can awaken.

As my awaited bus approached, I felt gratitude toward the world as it was in that moment. I was thankful that not all was lost in the expansion of our chosen civilization. I was thankful that the snow fell and the cars passed in harmony.

About Megan

“One day I will find the right words, and they will be simple.” ― Jack Kerouac, Dharma Bums
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