There is an image printed in my mind, I have seen so often walking home late at night in the winter. The snow falls, and sounds almost like muffled thunder. It can be so easily mistaken for my breathing or sounds of traffic from highways outside of the city.
I remember living in my condo on the 20th floor how difficult it was to decipher sounds in the building. One could not tell if there was running water, if it was coming from the 10th floor or the 6th floor. Noise traveled through the pipes and could easily mislead the human ear.
I am reminded of that fact when I hear sounds in the winter night. I live in a suburbia yet I can see the bridge from my home that reaches the island of Montreal. I am surrounded by three majour highways and so when I hear a rumble in the nigh, I cannot always point out if it is from the sky or a huge truck bouncing on the highway kilometres away.
As I walk along the street leading to my home, I feel privileged seeing the untouched beauty along the way. The evergreens look like royalty with pristine snow sprinkled on their branches; barren trees now have white shawls loosely hanging on each limb. And as I look at the walkway to my home, I am royalty leaving my footprints on virgin snow.
flurries in the night
trees decked out as we sleep
paw prints on the snow
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