There's something about those big windows on Broad Street — they give you a front-row seat to the world and invite the winter's chill to settle in with you. As the wind pushes through the glass, the cold becomes an uninvited companion, a constant whisper in the stillness.

While I worked on my computer, the sound of wind rustling through the birch leaves outside caught my attention. They seemed frozen in place, their golden yellow hues glowing softly in the dim light. And then, almost like a shared secret, I saw the first snowflakes gently falling as if on cue. It was Monday, December 2nd, 2024 — our first true snowfall of the season.

The streets didn't take long to catch the dusting, a light blanket of white. The whipping winds scattered the few souls still braving the cold —  wandering quietly, looking for forgotten cigarettes, and the occasional roar of truck engines, driven by those who seem to need the thrill of a loud motor to fill the space.

But still, it was the first snow. And no matter how far I travel or how many years pass, the snow falling over East Tennessee always brings memories back to life, like a gentle accumulation of time.

I grabbed my camera and captured some twinkling lights at Glen Bruce Park. The snow had picked up, falling in a steady dance as the bells of Church Circle rang out the 11th hour. Note to self: I suggest investing in one of those heated coats my friends keep raving about.

Yet, despite the chill, the city sparkles in the snow's embrace. There's a stillness in the air, a quiet poetry that settles over the streets, reminding me of winter's past, seasons that return, as faithful as the snow.

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