The first, true snow fell this morning.

Up in the wee hours of the morn, by the time I started my commute the sky was littering some type of dreary mess. From one side of town to the other, such a long drive in the morning darkness that exists now thanks to daylight savings time, watching as the blades seemed to bat aimlessly at the never-ceasing downfall.

At some point around lunch, I was finally able to peek my head outside.

A wonderland awaited! Such a pure and true downy flake rested upon the pine that surrounded the building. So breathtaking, so beautiful. Skeleton trees, which had just recently been plump with radiant fall color, now seemed like pretzels twisted this way and that, covered in powdered sugar.

I took a walk outside. The air was so brisk; all was so still and peaceful.  A sweet lullaby cooed in my ears as I strolled the grounds. There is something so invigorating about a freshly fallen coat of snow.

It is almost as if, for a brief moment, our snow globe has been shaken by some unseen hand and all that glitters falls on us as silently as it was stirred up. And we, as still figures, watch helplessly as our world is coated once again.

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