I walked out into the milky blanket. It encased the world
in quiet and cold, securing the silence in the color of
mourning doves. Everything was hushed, listening with all
of it’s might, to hear the sounds that would break the
silence. The fog smelled of powdery emptiness, ice
floating suspended in aether. Chimneys seeped out the scent
of hearthfires, mixing their grey, earthly tang with it.
the smell of fire and ice, hanging, clinging to each
breath, coating nostrils in dichotomy.