Not a sound is made as the flakes fall from the clouds.
No pitter-patter, no ping or plunk.
It piles high, inch upon inch, insulating the ground below.
You step outside your cozy home
And the silence is earth-shattering.
You grab you sled, and trudge up the hill.
As you sit to slide down, the stillness strikes you again.
Pushing off, the sound of the sled against snow
Thunders, the wind howls in your ears.
The friction becomes too much-
The sled slows to a stop.
You catch your breath.
And the silence quakes again