Snow did not always know what it was for.
At first, it only knew how to fall.
It landed everywhere at once,
bright and cold and busy,
making noise as it went.
Then one day, it saw Mohg and Pebble sleeping.
They were curled together under a blanket,
pressed close,
completely still.
Pebble had run hard until she was suddenly done.
Mohg had settled without hurry.
The blanket covered them gently.
It did not press.
It did not trap.
It simply stayed.
The snow watched this for a long time.
It noticed how quiet followed closeness.
How sound softened when nothing needed to move.
How the world seemed smaller
when everything important was near.
The snow thought this looked very kind.
The earth had been awake for a long time.
It held mountains.
It carried rivers.
It listened to storms and footsteps and roots growing.
The snow decided the earth might be tired too.
So it tried to do what the blanket did.
It fell softer.
It stayed where it landed.
It covered the ground carefully,
not to hide it,
but to keep it warm.
Sound tried to travel the way it always had, but the snow held it close, telling it to be kind and gentle.
Since then, when snow falls thick and steady,
the world grows quiet.
Footsteps fade.
Voices lower.
Everything speaks more gently.
Nothing is wrong.
The snow is just helping the earth take a nap,
the way it saw Mohg and Pebble do,
tucked in together,
safe and loved.
