Silent Snow

When snow falls, it’s unbelievably silent, like sitting in a room full of cotton balls. Even though there are many kinds of snowfall, it never makes a sound. When there is sound, snow has turned into something else – sleet, hail or water.


My son likes it when it rains. He says that it relaxes him and makes him sleep better when he hears the sound of the rain on our roof. I have to agree. If you concentrate you can pick up a rhythm. If it’s constant, it easily lulls you into half sleep. If it’s not, there’s hardly anything relaxing about it at all. I remember one night when rain was acting all crazy and I wasn’t feeling sleepy in the first place. I ended up spending half the night listening to the drumming of the roof that accelerated and slowed down like a bus driven by a bad bus driver.


It has rained heavily here lately. The snow is gone. It was washed away during one day at work. Snow in the morning, only huge puddles in the afternoon. Then again one morning there was little snow, and after a night of some roof drumming, puddles again. If the night is silent, chances are that winter is here in the morning.


During times when rain seems to be never-ending I remember a summer when I was a little girl. It had rained every day for weeks and my friend and I had waited impatiently for a chance to go swimming in the sea. Finally the frustration grew so unbearable that we put on our swim gear and ran outside to swim, and dance, in the rain. Maybe you have heard that some Finns bathe in snow. That – and our rain dance – naturally require a nice hot sauna afterwards. That goes without saying.


After the silent snowfall, sun comes out and sounds start to fill the air. All creatures find their ways out of their shelters to worship the sun, to see what the world looks like after the soundless transformation, to admire the fresh canvas. Slowly life starts to leave its mark and echoes in the white landscape.

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