The forest is still as puffy snowflakes lazily fall from the sky. Every tree, every rock, every blade of grass covered in a steadily growing blanket of white. Impossibly tall evergreen trees stand sturdily against the cold, their green branches striking against the nearly colorless backdrop. Voles, shrews, and squirrels scurry along the ground, scavenging for food. Large moose trot slowly and gracefully through the trees, their thick coats attracting a thin layer of snow. A light breeze passes through this forest, and for a fleeting moment, it looks like the fragile flakes are falling in reverse.
Amidst the downpour of white, a boy stretches out his hand. His gaze shifts from the sky to the specks of snow quickly melting in his palm. He watches every drop as it trails down his fingers and lands heavily on the ground, creating small indents in the cold powder. He concentrates on the feeling of the chilly air around him, the scent of the freshly fallen snow, and the sight of the trees outlined in white. Occasionally, his eye catches flashes of black and grey. Birds, he soon realizes, wondering why these didn't migrate with all the others. Everything here is so serene that he briefly wonders if this is all a dream. He knows it isn't one, however. The painful numbness in his gloveless fingers and the biting cold in his ears and nose are enough to ground the child to reality.
A gloved hand lands on his shoulder, and he drops his arm as he turns around. A woman stands there with a displeased look on her face. Her pale cheeks are flushed pink with the cold, and the long, dark strands of hair that escape her hat have become dotted with white spots. She crouches in front of the boy, holding his hand firmly and coaxing him to meet her gaze. When their eyes meet, her lips quickly move to form words, and her arms make broad but precise motions, clearly upset with the boy. However, his mother's words never register in his mind. Something about the landscape around him has captured his full attention, and his eyes drift from her rapidly moving mouth to the trees past her head, where the snow continues to fall.
The woman notices this and huffs exasperatedly. Her son had snuck out of the house, and now that she caught him, he didn't even appear ashamed. Didn't he know how worried she was? What if something happened to him? Unfortunately, this incident wasn't entirely unexpected. The child has a habit of running off to chase things he sees from his window. Once, she had found him with scrapes and bruises across his knees, gently holding a rabbit. She was left dumbfounded, ushering him to let the small animal free. Thankfully, he didn't go too far or hurt himself this time. That's all she can really ask for after this little stunt.
Curious, now that she's calmed down somewhat, she follows her son's gaze. The snow is still coming down as steadily as it has been. It piles on top of tree branches so heavily that they buckle under the weight, sending a wave of powder crashing into the ground with a loud crunch. She can hear the chickadees singing to one another as they flit about farther in the forest. The cold wind whistles overhead, and she can see why her son came here. The last bit of her frustration left as she realized how at peace her son was.
The woman stands suddenly, and he forces his gaze away from his surroundings. He looks at his mother to find her gently smiling down at him and offering her hand to take. The boy nervously grabs it, finally acknowledging he could be in big trouble. However, his mother only guides him to their small wooden cottage on their small snowy hill. Her lips begin to form words once again. This time, he tries hard to understand what she is saying, but her words are meaningless. No matter how much he wants to, he cannot hear her. He cannot hear anything.
He could not hear the way the trees would rustle in the wind. He could not hear the crunch of snow beneath their feet. He could not hear her voice. He could not hear all the sounds that made the forest less silent, but that doesn't mean he is unaware. He can still feel the breeze that stirs the branches. He can still feel his boots sink slightly in the snow. He could feel the warmth of her hand in his, and he knew she was worried about him being out by himself since he couldn't hear the way his mother could.
As they walk home together, the boy reaches out his free hand to catch the droplets of snow once more. As the flakes melt in his palm, he imagines what the snowfall might sound like. Perhaps it would sound like rain since they're both made of water and fall from the sky. However, if he remembers correctly, heavy things make louder sounds, and snow seems weightless. His mother doesn't seem bothered, so it must be a quiet noise. He supposes it doesn't matter what it sounds like. Even if this forest will always be silent for him, the sights, the smells, and the cold are the same for his mother. So, he continues to watch the snowfall.
~Inspired by a hard-of-hearing a family member.~
(Written: 12/2023)
YOU ARE READING
Poems & Short Stories
RandomAs the title says, this is a book of some of my amateur poetry and writing. Each chapter will either be a poem or a small, short story. Most of it's really bad so I hope you don't cringe if you read it.
