There is a quiet stillness to a gloomy day. Movement, if any at all, is slowed, somewhat deliberate. Words are spoken in hushed tones. Nature is lackluster, dimmed.
The snow fell softly today, leaving the slightest dusting of white amid all the gray. It left me wondering, "Is there a sound made when a snowflake lands? Having completed its journey, fulfilled its perfect destiny, does it sigh in accomplishment, or perhaps, relief?"
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