I glanced upon the snow one day.  Having awaked from a winter's nap, the night still pressing down upon the world, desperately holding to that which it could not keep, I bore witness to winter's folly: snow wisping from the darkness.  With magic it enticed me out of the warmth of home.  I listened intently to its call.

Come to us.  Join us.  Be with us.

The beckoning was irresistible, a siren song sent forth from a chorus of nature's bounty.

I heeded its desire obediently and robed myself with invincible attire.  The allure could not be denied, but I would not go unprepared.

Stepping out into the dawn, I could now see the snow falling from the sky, falling easily, happily, quietly.  Gentle at first, a powdery display of chill which was as light as the air itself.

I walked.  As I walked, I realized night's hold had been broken, the light of day now clumsily filtered through cloud and snow, the land awash in pale light.  Was the snow coming more forcefully now, or had I simply been unable to fully appreciate it in the dark?

Is not your intention to demonstrate your power to me? I queried.  Your song tempted me here, carried me from safety's arms and warming hold.  Why am I here?

I listened.  I could hear nothing aside from the quiet, the soundless stillness enveloping me.  A few seconds, perhaps a few more, and I began to think I had imagined it all.

Then, inaudibly, I heard it.  Look skyward.

And I did.

Snow now weighed heavily upon the trees, a substantial coat lain upon the world.  It continued falling, blurring all outside of my immediate presence, coming powerfully, large, perfect snow flying at me from the unnatural, gray, featureless sky.

This is but the beginning.  Our strength will be evident, our will undeniable.  Come forth, tarry not in worry, and observe the world we make for you.

I followed, unable to resist.  Cold wrapped itself around me, an invasion which would seek to breach the barriers with which I had protected myself, its sharp hands of glass scraping at me, pushed against me and around me by the wind whose howl in my ears was muffled only by the persistent quiet of the snow.

I turned in the direction of the lake, and I walked.  The snow was my only company on this journey, holding me in its icy depths.

It came quickly now, roughly, falling about me with increasing intensity, its might made apparent.  The white shrouded all things.  Color was washed from the face of the Earth, the snow exchanging winter's starkness for the hue of its own frozen voice.

Suddenly, unexpectedly, I became mindful my path was blocked.  This route, the way, was near impassible.  The weight of the snow, its heaviness on all things, prostrated evergreen foliage and branches, holding them relentlessly, holding them to the ground — and across my path.  I had walked beneath these very same branches many times in the past, and they had always been well above me, forever held toward the firmament.  Now they lay before me, under foot, unable to lift themselves once more unto the heavens.

Then, whispering from all around me, the snow once again spoke in its noiseless voice.

Behold the strength of our stillness.  Behold the power of our silence.