I find something intangibly perfect and serene when it snows at night. Humans and animals are scarce and few sounds are audible. A snowy night seems a bit more silent than most nights.
One can imagine the scene now:
The forecast has proven true and clouds loom overhead. One dresses warm, but not too warm, for one ought to embrace the cold. The door swings open, a portal into another realm. A thin coating has started to accumulate on vehicles, homes, and flora. The street lamps dangle over the blanketed pavement, yellow and white light illuminating the world. Everything seems a bit brighter. Oh, physics.
The thin coating is undisturbed, pristine and immaculate awaiting fresh prints. The first step is always crisp as snow is compressed underfoot. Sound seems to travel a bit farther and the silence that often follows seems more deafening than usual. And in that instance one perceives the world a bit differently.
First, loneliness. Not another creature seems to occupy the street one now traverses. And second, peace. One may have never experienced such a stillness before. It seems like the earth has stopped rotating and time has halted. Time only seems to move because snow flakes steadily drift towards the earth, joining their brethren whom rest below. Perhaps this moment could last forever.
Perfect. It is all perfect