There was a sound of the snow falling on snow. White blending with white, trees reaching up to catch each flake, one by one. The snow falling on snow sounded like a whisper from the center of the universe. Clear, like a whisper blended with a faint musical hum, the Universe was trying to give me a clue, and the snow was the messenger. The air was clear and dry, sharp like a knife, but gentle like a magician doing a knife trick. Under my feet the snow would crunch, and that crunching sound would mingle with the hum and the whispers to form the natural rhythm of winter.