Can you hear the nothing?
Does it have a name?
Is it stillness? No,
it’s not the same.
It lacks the breath
the stillness sighs,
it has no pulse,
nor lives nor dies.
The hollow air
and muted street,
in want of wings
and wheels and feet,
straddle worlds
of real and not
with fragile boundary
question-fraught.
Of substance there are
shapes and weights
King Winter’s touch
obliterates.
Oddments 
December 16, 2019 at 12:38 pm
Beautifully written and so true. In the middle of a storm, it is eerily quiet. š
December 16, 2019 at 1:14 pm
Thank you! Snow quiet is certainly something you are an expert on — probably more than you want to be!
December 16, 2019 at 6:37 pm
Thank you for so beautifully reminding me of the hush of a snowfall.
December 16, 2019 at 6:45 pm
Thank you, Shirah! It’s so good to hear from you, as always! We are getting quite the winter look: one storm left its bounty last night, and another is starting any minute now and will do the same tonight. The trees are gorgeous; the driving, not so much. As you no doubt remember!