Dear friend,

The snow started sometime this morning, though I didn’t notice it right away. I was in the kitchen, the house unusually still, when the light outside softened in that particular way it only does before everything turns white.

It’s falling steadily now. Just persistent enough to change the shape of the day.

There is something about snow that makes time feel different. The hours stretch. The world narrows to what is close and warm and within reach. Today, that feels like a gift.

I lit a candle earlier, not because it was dark, but because it felt right. The window fogged slightly where the warmth inside met the cold outside. These small things have become the markers of the afternoon, more reliable than any clock.

I keep thinking about how often we’re asked to keep moving, even when everything in us wants to pause. Snow never asks permission. It simply arrives and insists that we slow down with it. Roads close. Plans soften. Expectations loosen their grip.

Maybe that’s why I love it so much.

If you’re reading this while the snow is falling where you are too, I hope you’ve found a quiet corner. A chair near a window. A blanket pulled close. Something warm in your hands. I hope you’ve let yourself step out of urgency, even if just for a little while.

And if the snow is only falling here, know that I’m thinking of you anyway, sending you this small moment of stillness, folded carefully into a letter, written while the world outside was being gently rewritten.

The snow will stop eventually. But for now, it’s here, and so are we. The house is warm and the day has nowhere else it needs to be.

With love,
A friend, watching the snow fall