I’m glad for snow falling through the night and into the morning. It softens and paints the contours at the same time, and when there’s no other thing to make sense of random acts, the calm of this white cover helps. A scarf of fog wraps into the canyon and around the mountain. It’s quiet. I won’t mind if the snow seduces everything into an insulated peace and lets it sustain that isolation for another moment, and another.