I accidentally pulled on the shutter to my window and it flew up, revealing the world beyond my little room.
Light plunged into my room, lifting the gloom. I think I woke up at that moment as my eyes gazed outside, observed the white sky and the snow descending.
Light and lighting is so important, so precious. It controls an aesthetic quality of our life and photographs.
Beyond the enclosed space I'm hunched in, a serene, undisturbed world lies in wait. I peer out, and look down from my perch. A tree bent over from the weight of snow, its boughs touching the ground, its spine arching. Thin, willowy trees swaying in the wind, the sound of an unseen aircraft in the distance. And the snow still falls steadily, gently, beautifully. I find that it is impossible to look at snowfall and think badly of it. In fact, I feel a little guilty of having announced that I grew tired of it a week ago.
Whiteness everywhere. Light. It's nice.
The more I stare at the snow, the more lost I feel, and the better. It is hypnotic. Holding me in a trance as I watch its constancy, I feel like I could forget everything--all the sorrow, all the troubles, everything.