I came home one day and the driveway spoke to me. Pulling me aside, out of the calculated, necessary steps from my car to the door, and vice versa.
It told me of the snow, and how it blanketed everything. That trees and the branches were fine, but the ground begged to be tucked in, by the aimless wander of boots.
It pointed out the falling snowflakes. And how each one had something different to say as it carved its path downwards. Illuminated by the Sun.
I heard of the Sun too. How it not only made the flakes alive, but everything. And everything is washed in it's light. Like the patch of ground, untouched by snow because of because of my car. Or my home, sighing with content, basking in the glow.
It let me know how sad it's been, how sad everything here has been, because of how little I've been listening.