Those Quiet Moments II :35th Ave sound absorption

It wasn't long before Christmas.  Anticipation of the holidays was firm in the air literally and figuratively.

I had a job at a local convenience store, known then as SuperAmerica before Speedway changed all that.  I generally worked there until about 10:30 at night several days a week as a full time college student.   This was back in the days of impulse VHS rentals, credit card imprinters, and checking tank levels with an abominally long wooden yard stick device in blistering horizontal rain.

There was no rain this night.  As a matter of fact a pretty strong snowstorm had just moved through during my shift, and the plows had only just finished their work before I clocked out, locked up and started my brief walk home to my sister and brother-in-law's home where my student ass rented out the basement.  I had an improvised apartment down there complete with waterbed, splitter-fed cable tv connected to my miniature (albeit color) television. Since it wasn't a digital channel model, I was limited to the 12 channels on the dial. (I watched a LOT of CNN back then.)  I was also blessed with an extra heater, for those abnormally cold nights, which some would call a pair of panty hose affixed to a disconnected dryer vent.

As I turned down 35th avenue to my sister's place, I noticed the sounds that had been gathering behind me, wind, police and fire sirens, truck-bolstered traffic, began to lessen.  Almost deflate.
The further I made it down the street, the quieter it became.  Snow was built up on the numerous trees thickening them to three times their normal size. The snow was this close to falling off, but just quite wasn't coming down.  The plows had pushed the snow on the curbs to a good four feet high.  The only audible sound was the dense crunch of my boots crushing the already flattened snow (courtesy of snowblowers) into the concrete of the sidewalk.

For those unfamiliar, snow absorbs sound.  But the powder on the street, gathered on the rooftops and hanging from the trees was litterally creating a vacuum of noise.  I kept stopping several times, closing my eyes to listen to what effectively was.....

a complete void of sound.

The streetlights lit the white of the snow that hadn't had a chance to get dirty yet, and against the pitch black of the night sky, it formed an accompaniment to the silence that was almost breathtaking.

I actually took a knee at the end of my sister's driveway to take it all in a little longer before going in to throw some clothes in the dryer.