Life of Snow On a WInter Hill

In Winter’s silence unfold the many shades, tones, kinds, thicknesses, textures and variants of grey; in the white of a snow covered hill, in the gray-black blues of a Winter’ day; ice, cold, wind, light through crystal, whistling, crunching snapping and cracking

On the hill to the right, where the sun still presumably shone, a white, snow-covered, pristine surface was foreground before a whitened sky with no trace of blue or ray of light – just a monotonous and uniform heaven of white;



There, a hill of no tree or bush of any kind. Just, smoothed and large and round, this piece of land sliding past the slipping and whitened sky. From these two touch, is birthed a clear and transparent horizon-line.

From the hill’s right side now comes the twilight of an oncoming nightime’s darkness. Beyond perception, this emerges.



In its first few shading-moments, the Winter Night's twilight turns clouded white-sky toward the oncoming grey. A grey which grows, from East to West, muting the hill’s reflective brilliance until night-time is fully arrived.



In the Winter’s snow-filled darkness before the glory of a moonrise, the lunar twiglight wafts its way across the hill’s darkened, midnight horizon. Soon even this midnight darkness will greet the twilight of the moon.



All through these changes of sun to darkness, of darkness to moon, of moon to morning - in all of this the hill remains white, the virgin snow of the hillside which changes in the quality of intensity only. White becomes less intense, than more, than less, than more.



The snow covered hill remains stark white; even in the moon lit sky as it was in day; the whiteness of the hillside snow never changes from white to gray or black.



And Not even midnight keeps the full moon from channeling it’s brilliance upon this starlit hill; Instead, the moon only illuminates the ground of snow-covered earth as completely as its own lunar surface.



In heaven above, the moonlight fills in beige the dust-covered hills of meteoric sands, but here, on the hill, the Moon in Winter illuminates only the dusts of clouds mixed in the colds of Winter’s wind and ice;



Oh That frozen whiteness that sunlight can shimmer upon and moon-beams sparkle up backwards into the eyes;



Illuminating the soul.