I’m sure there is a scientific explanation for this, but it seems that snow brings a certain quality of silence with it. This silence is compounded by power outages. What’s left (assuming no one in the neighborhood has a snow blower) is a massive aural space between the organic sounds that humans make. Your own breathing. The rhythmic scrape of a shovel on pavement. Neighbors who haven’t spoken since the last “snow event” saying hello.
I walked the dog through our power-free neighborhood two nights ago. The snow had almost finished. There was a fairytale quality to it – not like prince charming was lurking somewhere around the corner, but in the way that anything is possible in a fairytale. The silence made room for the magic. Somehow all of our mechanical whirring and clicking and buzzing and ticking doesn’t leave any room for fairies.