Snow may be a blanket, one that covers a sleeping earth.
But the early snow lays a rug upon an earth still in the midst of autumn. It covers the dust of leaves that lay littering the floor, hangs fresh curtains from the trees, lays a tablecloth on every roof and white runners on the sidewalks.
The audio is silent for the opening of morning–no birdsong background twittering to distract. But then a rumble rises in crescendo of a sound to build and emphasize the conflict of a change. Then as it fades away again into another quiet scene, it’s surely changed the story and the roads are black once more.
Layers of new media are starkly seen in nature at times like this.
The Lost Children: A Charity Anthology
Where does the grass go when it snows?
It is rudely sucked back into the earth, snakelike leaving but its golden skin of straw behind.