Silent. Soft swirls encircle the trees. Quietly the flakes drift like wafers on piles of whipped cream. Building without a sound until one by one they heap up softly curved drifts that reach windowpanes and block doorways.      The only sound heard is the whipping wind whistling round the corners of the house and through the gaping meadows. The roaring wind drives gentleness across the landscape. Trees bend white, skies are whisked gray, the visible becomes invisible.      … Continue reading →