I awoke yesterday morning to snow falling. I lay in bed longer than I should have, watching the swirling flakes through the open window, awash in the quiet that even the lightest flurry seems to bring, that profound hush. Cooper perched at attention on the edge of the bed, staring out the window, growling long and low, clearly convinced that the snow couldn't be trusted.
We've had flurries on and off today. The palette of grey sky and white flakes is perfection.
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A few feathery flakes are scattered widely through the air,
and hover downward with uncertain flight,
now almost alighting on the earth,
now whirled again aloft into remote regions of the atmosphere.