As I’m parked here on my super soft, comfy, overstuffed couch, I’ve got a good view out the large window — and an awful lot of fat, fluffy, fluttering snowflakes drifting down from the heavens. Hm. I was hoping some delightful alliteration would make it feel a little cuter, but that was an epic fail. 🫣 Snow = 🥶 and 🧊.

Yuck!

Snow sounds lovely, I know, especially to those of you who never or rarely see it and would love to give it an up-close-and-personal look. We’re expecting up to 10 cm today (about 4 inches). So that’s not too bad, but temps will be up and down this week, with more snow and even a bit of rain, meaning melting and freezing, melting and freezing, creating deadly slippery conditions — whether in vehicles or on foot.

So as I approach the second anniversary of my nasty leg injury after slipping on ice (and I’m still not fully healed), I’m thinkin’ this’ll be a great week to stay indoors!

Excuse me for a minute…I’m gonna go throw a couple of logs in the fireplace and “Crank up the Cosy” in here…I’ll be right back…

Ahhh. Better.

I have to say, though, I do love watching snow fall — when it’s this kind — the big, fluffy flakes that you can really see as they drift gently to the ground. I prefer watching it fall at night, especially by moonlight. It creates something extra magical about the silence and stillness, and it speaks to my soul.

Silence often has a lot more to say that we might realise.

When we pay attention in the midst of our busy lives, we find moments when silence becomes the storyteller, weaving stories that words could never quite capture.

One such moment found me on a misty morning sitting by a lake near my cottage in England and watching the sun rise. Nestled into the woods that grew right to the water’s edge, I sat on a log as the ducks and swans glided past. The silence hung in the air, a living, breathing entity with much to say if one would listen. I could have sworn the lake held its breath as if anticipating a long-kept secret about to be revealed.

Under a canopy of friendly trees, I inhaled the quiet energy of my surroundings, allowing it to fill every cell in my body. The water lapped at the shore near my feet, its soft melody a gentle backdrop to the sweet silence that enveloped me. I was spellbound by the serenity of this place I so loved and cherished.

My gaze drifted upward and I spotted a barn owl staring at me from the safety of a sturdy branch. Its eyes held the wisdom of millennia, telling a story of resilience in solitude, of finding peace in the simplest moments, and of the beauty of silent understanding.

As I sat on that old tree trunk, I reflected on other instances where silence had held me captive. Like in the days I sat by my father’s bed as his body prepared to die. For most of that time, even there were no words between us we shared stories of mutual comfort and the enduring strength of love.

Sitting on that log by the water, I remembered quiet evenings with friends, where laughter gave way to shared silence, its gifts of connection needing no explanation.

I contemplated the times it brought insights, answers, and wisdom. The times it brought healing by allowing me to simply “be.”

It occurred to me that in a world where noise often stifles or disturbs what matters most, moments of silence stand as reminders to listen with our hearts, and to embrace the quiet that reveals the clarity we seek.

As dawn faded into the gentle light of that early Spring morning, I couldn’t help but think that the most profound truths emerge in silence. In these precious moments when words disappear and silence speaks volumes, this is when we find ourselves truly connected to ourselves, our lives, and to one other.

I carry these stories with me like the treasures that they are, not just for the memories they hold, butto remind me ofthe importance of allowing plenty of space for silence to speak.