There is a certain silence that takes over from the first moment the sky strains to birth snow
and lasts until spring yawns into her early blooms.
It is a silence borne of the cool purple reflection of a midnight moon off the new-fallen snow.
It yields a still so complete that footsteps crunching the frozen dew announce themselves
and you can almost hear frozen exhalations swirling around your head.
This silence bows only to giggling children with pink noses and hot chocolate
or caroling strangers proclaiming the season.
It is, indeed, “Silent night...ho-”-oly shit, it’s cold!
A chill that occupies your bones so you will remember how much you love warmth.
A silence that swallows every sound but those that reflect the glow.
A slate-clearing calm that somehow invokes renewal amid the glistening barren branches.
Perhaps, a “Heavenly peace.”