There is nothing more magical than the moments following a snowfall in a small, country town.
Every unsightly accident, hiccup, crack has been filled with a luxurious, powdery white.
The handrails have an airy frosting of confetti that slips easily to the side as you brush against it.
The sidewalks have the familiar crisscross footprints of a child’s furry Ugg boots.
The eaves of the old buildings hang low with a newly lain white roof, kindly covering the chipped paint of the store letters below.
It is as if a white cashmere throw has been billowed up, now settling on the town as a whole. Covering us all. Inviting us to tuck in close. And not be aware of the confusion below.
We are, for this moment, encased in a world of unsullied purity. Safe. Unaware.
Reality has no place here.
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