"Crunch, Crunch, Drip, Drip"

Flirtatious: "Here! Why don't I put this blanket of snow around your shoulders.  It'll warm you right up."

Real Mood? Zen

Prediction: There will be SOME flooding this summer.

This entry is dedicated to "Sighlemaccaba" wherever she is.  She rightfully, and gently, slapped my wrist about a month ago when I groused about some of the pains of winter. Today I feel fully chastised and reformed.

We got about an inch and a half of snow overnight.  Had I been working for some news room I'd be up and standing at some icy intersection suffering through endless live shots reporting the obvious. 

But I'm not working in a news room.  In fact I didn't even know it snowed until I rolled out of bed about 10 A.M.?

By now the guy with the diesel SUV has departed the neighborhood.  The elementary school gangs leave their marks in the snow, but are now quietly at their "itty bitty" desks. There is tire tread evidence there'd been a morning rush hour.  But nothing is rushing right now.

(Well, maybe the birds.  They are clamoring to get to the easy pickin's bird feed I've got out for them.  They are splashing around in the heated bird bath I provide.)

I walk with my camera to the park.  You can see the tracks in the snow. Rabbit, child, cross country ski?  It's all a guess 'cause they're gone.  Only a spirit sits on the wet park bench. And that spirit isn't talking. The playground is silent. Maybe with the help of the sun, some toddlers in their parkas will be on the slide this afternoon. But not now.

Paul Simon's lyrics in "Sounds of Silence" don't relate, but the title sure does. Back at the house I step out into the driveway to get the paper.

"Crunch, Crunch, Crunch."  It's a distinct sound of silence only those who live where it snows recognize. When it's the only sound around, it resonates for blocks.

Quietly bending over to get the paper I discover "Crunch" is just one of many sounds of silence.  I can hear the "Cracks" of my knee joints. And a gentle breeze has set off the tinkle of wind chimes.  We are starting to get a symphony here.

Beneath the melody of the chimes comes the steady rhythm of the snow melting.  "Drip, Drip, Drip, Drip!" And there is the rolling tympani section comprised of balls of packed snow. The snow balls periodically sling themselves off the roof, silent for a second, and then hit the blanket of snow with a dramatic crescendo "Thud."

That's what I hear. My sounds of silence.  It is so peaceful, so comforting, so mind clearing, so rejuvenating. I feel empowered. It's as if I finally asked for something and actually got it.

But journalists and educators should never stray too far from clamor of total reality.  It's only happening 'cause I got Friday off. So if I really am endowed with some cosmic power?

"I hereby decree that snow will only fall on Thursday nights.  The snow will be no more than two inches in depth. There will be no wind to speak of.  And Paul doesn't even have to get out of bed on Friday until 10 A.M."

"So Be It!"