This morning there was snow.
It was short lived down here by the water.
It fell in white flurries against the gray of the sky and the darker gray of the inlet.
The wind was still and the morning was hushed.
Nothing moved but the silent drift of soft frozen light and the hot white dance of smoke that rose from the chimney to meet it.
But now it has passed.
It's just a memory in the soft corners of my mind; a quiet moment to treasure.
A moment filled with cinnamon and peace in a world made of chaos and swirling noise.
Tonight, it's cold and dark.
The cinnamon rolls are gone, the fire is gone, the snow is gone.
And tomorrow; tomorrow the world will be back to normal.
But I will cup that memory in my hand and hold it close to my heart as I head back out into a world that is not made up of peace and silence and cinnamon and snow.
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