Like heavy hands with a soft touch, theres an avalanche behind the stillness. A succession of what was then/what is now, and while not unrelated, felt like the wait in the calm before the storm. All ten toes firmly planted in reality, yet I couldnt shake the feeling that the end of days were the snowflakes above. Ferraras 4:44 came to mind more than once. The dreadful forest, the dreadful silence, the absolute white.