The hiss was now becoming a roar; the whole world was a vast moving screen of snow, but even now it said peace, it said remoteness, it said cold, it said sleep.
From Silent Snow, Secret Snow, by Conrad Aiken
Last week, I felt as I once did as a child, realizing his helplessness in an indifferent world.
I might have been 9 or 10, and I had developed a severe stomach flu or something. Nothing my parent…