Only the rush of water beginning to boil in the tea kettle and the faint trace of a distant train's whistle hang in the quiet of an empty house. The silence is as steady as the snow piling along rooflines and sidewalks. Nothing interrupts but the occasional footsteps of the broom bumping against the backdoor or the aching of old wood. It must be morning. Although I have been awake for many hours and should now be in class, I remain in the kitchen, complacent and covered in a blanket. I meant to do homework and the dishes. Instead, I try to fill the pages of a blank journal, only to lapse into rambling, quieted thoughts. Barely a week ago, I admired how cleverly, how valiantly they avoid their destinations. Forcing currents of air to carry them this way and that, how unsettled and smiling each of them seemed. Restless snowflakes skidded from the sky, and spiralled their resistance. But now, even the sky is sleepy. Today, the snow falls steady and uniform, without argument, to the ground.