@ EricKlein279 Page 2:
The snow is a rare guest,
almost an urban legend
that we wait for every winter
without truly believing in it.
But that night,
against all odds,
the miracle happened.
The Silence of the Loire Banks
The snow fell
without a sound,
as if the cities
had decided
to speak in a lower voice.
The parks, usually so lively,
draped themselves in an
immaculate white coat.
The sounds of the road
faded away,
giving way to a
hushed, almost surreal atmosphere.
On the sidewalk,
footsteps are slowly imprinted.
They are the fragile traces
of a moment that asks
for nothing more than to be lived.
A Suspended Moment
Under the streetlights,
the night becomes more tender.
The orange light gives
pearly reflections to the snow.
The cold stings a little,
but for some, it awakens
buried memories:
longer winters,
rare snowball fights
in schoolyards,
numb hands, and
red cheeks.
In the towns and the countryside,
this scene seems frozen in time:
A child playing,
trying to catch
the flakes with her tongue.
Another resting,
snuggled in her grandfather's arms,
watching the spectacle
with wide eyes.
And the heart gives thanks in silence.
Peace.
In these cities, usually
so busy, time has stopped.
No need for everyone
to be there, no need
for everything to be perfect.
Just the snow.
Just this moment
suspended between the river and the sky.
People stop for a moment
to watch
the flakes dancing in the beam of light.
There is the certainty
that in the midst of daily chaos,
there are still
moments where everything grows still.
