The Long Ride Through Falling Snow by keshmish on DeviantArt
Snow makes everything softer.The houses lose their sharp edges first. Rooflines blur, chimneys fade, fences sink into white until they look like bones beneath skin. The world outside the bus window becomes a slow-moving painting, water bleeding into water. Trees stand in rows like patient giants, their branches carrying careful layers of snow, each limb bowed but unbroken.The sky hangs low and silver. It presses gently against the tops of pine trees, swallowing their tallest needles in mist. When the bus moves, flakes rush sideways across the glass, then vanish. Some strike the window and melt instantly, leaving tiny trembling trails before disappearing. Others cling for a moment, fragile stars dissolving against warmth.The road is a long gray ribbon stitched through white fields. Tire tracks carve twin scars ahead of us, and fresh snow tries to close them as if erasing proof that anyone has passed at all. Mailboxes wear rounded caps. Parked cars crouch beneath thick blankets, transformed into quiet, unfamiliar shapes.There’s a stillness in winter that feels older than anything else. Even the trees seem to breathe slower. Bare branches lace together overhead, forming delicate black veins against the pale sky. When wind brushes through them, snow sifts down in glittering veils, catching light from streetlamps that glow like distant moons.A curved pine comes into view — its needles heavy, bending into a soft arc. Snow gathers in the crook where trunk meets earth, building a small white hill that wasn’t there yesterday. Beyond it, the corner store’s sidewalk lies cracked and half-hidden, edges softened by frost. The blue mailbox waits, its color dulled but stubborn beneath powder.Everything is quieter in snowfall. Sound feels wrapped, folded in layers. Even the bus hum becomes distant, as if traveling underwater.The door will open soon. Cold air will rush in sharp and clean, carrying the scent of ice and metal and something green buried deep beneath the snow. For a moment longer, the world drifts past in white and gray and silver — endless, patient, unchanged.And just before the bus slows completely, the snow thickens.As if the sky has decided not to let the morning go so easily.
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