> jumping into life.

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In my mind, the primary component of a storm is noise. Wind noise, water smashing into the roof noise, thunder noise, and later maybe the crashing of trees noise. Storms are loud. They thrash and rumble and flash and growl.

I cannot understand a snowstorm. It is snowing; that much makes sense. But storm? This is no storm. This is silent; more silent all the time, as inch piles on inch and mutes even the sounds of traffic. As inch piles on inch and fewer and fewer cars brave the so-called storm to drive by. A storm is dark. Dark clouds, dark water, dark pavement. This is no storm. This is bright, and getting whiter all the time. Even the dark forms of trees swallowed into nothing.

Were the wind howling and the bare trees whipping free of their quiet blanket, I could know it as a storm. Were the power out, at least, the term would make sense. But this stillness, getting stiller all the time? This softness? Oh, I know it could kill me, I know it would and fast. I'm going nowhere except to the kitchen for more tea.

But a storm? Death it may be, and winter, but it is no storm.

Oh, stay long enough and you'll find out where the "storm" in snowstorm comes from. It's the wind; I was out in it this afternoon. But sometimes they're quiet like this, and that's just magic.

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