About the time the hidden sun was probably setting, a flock of geese flew overhead, barely soon enough.
The rain continued through gray dusk, but the sound gradually diminished. I don't remember when it fell silent. Some time later I noticed the quiet, and looked outside to see snow falling, and the street already white. An inch lies there, and more accumulates. So far the electricity remains on. The plow truck has not yet passed. I expect it to rumble by before morning, trying to stay ahead of whatever the storm brings. What it has brought me is the silence, and the glowing landscape even a sullen sky can't prevent. To me, snow's saving grace is that nocturnal brightness, and the quiet broken only by the occasional soft flomph that comes when some overburdened branch releases its white cache.