ensconced inside walls of glass and wood, a human-scale snow globe, the world outside awash in white. flakes falling steadily: sometimes heavily, fat and lacy, thick in the damp air. sometimes urgently, more granular, staccato pellets rushing to meet the ground and clattering against interfering windows. sometimes en masse, so dense that the scene fades to ice, snowflake curtains blotting out houses, trees, parked cars, lampposts. inside, we cozy up. steam swirls up from mugs

In late October, I returned to Montana after a rather lengthy absence. I returned in time to see the last of the fall colors, ochers and golds deepening into late-autumn glory. I returned, and soon it snowed. And it snowed. And it snowed. I stood one evening watching out the window as thick flakes softly sank beneath the yellow cone of light offered by the corner streetlight. The snow fell as peace descending from the sky. I stood watching, and I felt its peace. I felt at pea