There’s something about the silence of snow—how it blankets the world, muffling the noise, leaving nothing but the hum of your own thoughts. Tonight, the sky burns soft, caught somewhere between purple and pink, like it’s trying to tell a secret it can’t quite share.
The trees stand still, frozen in time, yet somehow alive. Their bare branches stretch out, clawing at the fading light as if they’re holding onto something they know they’ll lose. It feels familiar—like every quiet goodbye you never really got to say.
I look at this scene and think about the in-between moments. The pauses between heartbeats, the space where everything hangs in the air, waiting for what comes next. It’s heavy, but it’s also kind of beautiful. Like this sky, this snow, these shadows—they’re not trying to be anything else.
Sometimes life feels like this: cold but honest. A reminder that even in the stillness, there’s a glow, faint but alive, asking you to stay for just a little longer.
And so I do.
uncommonsight 