I looked outside all day today. Snow was floating down softly all afternoon and work kept me from it. Winter has long been my favorite season and to finally have snow falling made me smile gently to myself, made me treat the customers a little nicer, and made the previous night not seem as bad. I got home, dead tired, and ate some lunch. It was still coming down and I felt my fingertips itch. I changed out of my uniform and left the house, ignoring my mother's curious stare. I lay down on my back, spread eagle, just far enough in my yard so that I saw nothing but sky. My glasses kept the snow off my eyes, but I closed them anyway. I wanted to feel the soft cold kisses of the flakes against my face, and the wind tossing my hair. I wanted to feel the way that winter air is pulled from my lips, heavy and thick. I wanted to shut out the insanity that still lingered from the storm. That's the thing I always loved about winter. It makes everything quiet, everything soft. It's like going underwater, where the sounds are muted and distant, it's like the whole world around you is cleansed. I remember thinking how nice it would be if the snow just kept falling and covered me, like a blanket, like it was cleansing me too. And I told myself, "Breathe out and let the breath take the troubles with it." And as silly as it sounds, the panic started to subside, and strangely I felt like winter had taken me in its arms and cradled me in her cold embrace. I felt new…like the falling snow.