Quiet...

...or, "The Joy of Quiet," as a New York Times opinion piece recently put it (http://www.nytimes.com/2012/01/01/opinion/sunday/the-joy-of-quiet.html?_r=1&scp=1&sq=quiet&st=cse).

We have it, in spades. Shhhhh.

It's just outside our windows today. An unusually heavy snow is falling on Hamilton, Mt.  There is a "Winter Storm Warning" for the Bitterroot Valley --"today through Thursday afternoon...an additional 8 to 12 inches are possible...locally up to 14 inches." We'd planned to drive to Missoula and scrapped that plan pretty quickly when the reality of road conditions settled in.

A ceiling lamp in hour house reflects in the window as I shoot north; the filmy circle actually is a Ziplock bag, cut open at the end to form a protective circle around my camera (no special effects intended).

We step outside as we consider whether to walk or to drive. We stand still. After the snowplow passes by, we hear not a sound. We look north again and see more black-and-white gorgeousness, shot in color, of course, but turned monochromatic by snow and bark.

Snow-shrouded trees, just north of us.

Then we look west. More trees, tons more snow and this is just noon time. It keeps falling all day...

Baker Street, plowed but covered over again with snow.

We despoil the quiet by choosing to get into our car to look for more pictures. The silence -- except for crunch of snow tires on packed streets -- is beautiful.

A shot through the front windshield.

A stop for a latte is another time to reflect.  Cafés may be steamy and bustling in cold weather, but I enjoy screening all of that out to feel the heat of the drink and to stare quietly into the foam.

Coffee with a heart.

But a final decision needs to be made. What to do next. And the choice is clear. It's home. That's the place to be on a day such as this. There are new library books, magazines, a new sofa, a fresh pile of firewood, a full fridge and pantry. And, have I mentioned? No TV!!

Firewood, safe underneath the car port, by our garage.

Quiet, only interrupted by a snap-crackling fire.

We rekindle a fire from morning coals. It takes time to warm up. So do we. In the end, we sit quietly there, toes finally thawed, books opened. But all we do is look out at branches that are heavy with wet, white, crystalline stuff. The beauty of the scene overwhelms. It needs no words.