A world in white

The world has transformed. And it is all running in slow motion. The bus is moving forward slowly, slow with circumspection, even though it is not obstructed by the usual traffic. The long queues of cars at the traffic junction are now replaced by just a couple of them. Even those few don't rush through the green light as in regular 'rush hour', but cross gently, as if strolling on a leisurely afternoon. The absence of the usual cacophony of speeding cars is almost unsettling.

A few huddled figures in dark coats can be observed, bent slightly forward, tiptoeing despite their hurry. Dark dots against a vast white background. Seems like everyone else has relented to the serenity and made themselves scarce, so as not to disturb it. All at the same time. Those left behind are trying to be inconspicuous with their quietness and restrained movement.

The flakes are dropping from the sky with the assurance of being preserved after the fall, buffered by those colleagues who have fallen before them. Without any need for urgency, each one is managing to have a decent look around and marvel at how together they have managed to transform this usually drab place into some kind of a pristine beauty. The snow flakes come down gently, perhaps in allegory to the slow moving world around them. Or is it the other way round? Has the world slowed down to mirror the unhurried fall of this snow?