Moment | Kyle Branin

I stumble up the last few inches of the hill, just a few steps behind the girl, and stop short, just a few seconds after her. We're both looking at the last few feet of our daily 6 a.m. trudge to work. Neither of us like the cold, neither of us like the snow. But sometimes, there are moments. This was one of them. Spread out in front of us are just a few yards of fresh, unspoiled snow. It's only a couple of inches deep, but it's enough to hide all of the features of the lawn and sidewalk. It is beautiful. A layer of sparkling white, catching the moon and the streetlights, and throwing it back at me in a thousand pieces. A smooth, untrodden, layer of cold. A layer of sleep, beneath which the grass, the earth, even the bugs, all prepare for their next great stab at life. I start to realize, for the thousandth time, just how much you can see in a moment, in one brief snap shot of this life, but my thoughts are interrupted by the voice of the girl next to me, he beauty on par with that of the snow "It's almost fuzzy, and it sparkles." I crack a smile and say what it starting to enter both our minds by that time "But it's so cold." And then we enjoy the sadistic pleasure of being the first to tread upon this blanket of snow, this art of mother earth.