Veda Counts the Quiet Flakes — Under the heavy hush of the pine pass, Veda tucked a wool scarf under her chin and pressed one mitten to the cold window of the snow gauge hut. Read the full story →
Under the heavy hush of the pine pass, Veda tucked a wool scarf under her chin and pressed one mitten to the cold window of the snow gauge hut. She had made herself a small challenge: count seven perfect flakes before the plow engine reached the ridge bend. The first flake was starry and slow. The second spun like a tiny wheel. The third landed on the glass with a soft tick, and the room smelled of cedar logs warming in the stove.
Outside, the snowplow train came steadily through the cut, blade parting the drifts with a low shhhhhh. Veda did not hurry. Four, five, six—each flake waited its turn in the gray light. Then the engine breathed out a white puff, and Veda noticed something strange and wonderful: the steam rose in seven little clouds, each one shaped like the flakes she had counted.
“Were you counting too?” she whispered. The plow answered with one gentle hoot that trembled through the snowbanks. Veda marked the seventh flake in her notebook, not with a number, but with a curl of steam. Next time you see the plow nose pushing through the pine pass, see if you can find the quiet flake it saved for last.
