Blue silence

Blue light is soaking the cold air. I see sun sparkling on snow, leaping deer tracks, the curving shadow of a hawk. Time loses power. 

My boots make a noisy crunching on this snow. When I stop, the forest seems to wait, a holy pause, then settle into silence. 

How many types of silence are there? The animals must know the difference between this blue stillness speaking of life’s ending and the hushed white quiet with sharper edges, of watching, of being seen. They know of Winter’s solemn drop into evening dark. 

The forest speaks to us about silence. The snow slows us down so we can hear.