While intrepidly if ill-advisedly choosing to walk in a below freezing
   wind to a fantastic yet unknown-to-us sushi place near but not nearby
   to the Tokyo office, I remarked to my compatriot how Detroit was hit
   with several inches of snow in sub zero Fahrenheit temperatures and how
   much better off we were in our current state. I glibly commented that I
   also didn't miss shoveling the snow off of my driveway. Yet …

   I miss the sound of falling snow.

   The world becomes immediate and undemanding. Lights halo. There's a
   smell to it colored by the temperature and one's own breath. And the
   sound, the sound can be a nearly silent blanket carefully laid down or
   a muted padding or something indescribably in-between. A ghost world,
   sweet and isolated and crisp, with few to one inhabitant.

   Hopefully all of this revelry remains untainted long enough to imbibe
   before the scene is broken by two-stroke engine oil and gas burning
   atmosphere in a hurried effort to move matter from point driveway to
   point elsewhere.

   Untainted at least for one single moment of delight.
     __________________________________________________________________

   My original entry is here: [1]The Sound of Falling Snow. It posted Fri,
   15 Dec 2017 13:12:27 +0000.
   Filed under: personal,

References

   1. https://www.prjorgensen.com/?p=761