New York in the Snow

I wake up this morning and for a moment don't know where I am. Everything is silent. Pushing away the curtains I see it, Manhattan in white.

It falls, slowly at first, then fast, disappearing into the sidewalk and collecting on windshields. The children in the apartments across the way, press their hands to the glass and watch it float, knowing it's difficult to building snowmen in the city.

It drapes the city like a blanket, covering its insecurities, masking its imperfections. It mutes the traffic and the car horns, the soundtrack that is constantly humming, the living pulse that propels the city forward.

Walking in Central Park is like walking with an old friend or lover-it looks different on its surface, almost foreign, yet underneath you know it has remained the same.

White collects on coats and clings to hair before it melts away, becoming forgotten, lost, as new flakes inevitably fall in its place.