The snow under the moonlight. The calm. The quiet. Makes me want to get my snowpants on and go and watch. But I know that my being is offensive to the calm, my watching will affect it. It won’t be the same with me there. My breathing, my taking in, the beating of my heart is contadicitory to the calm. I am motion. It is stillness. I know that it is death, I am life. Yet for some reason I want the stillness, and the rest that it brings. I have heard it said that the signs of the Father are movement, movement, and repose. What is one without the other? Is it still the same place? Movement, movement, and repose. Repose. Stillness. Rest. I think I will go get my snowpants and get me some.