Listen, and you’ll hear.
In the snow-quiet. In the cold that envelops bare branches and evergreens alike, winding around sleds and mittens and waterproof boots.
The bells are ringing. Even if they don’t appear to move. Even if you can’t see where they are hung. Even if you have to listen very, very closely while your fingers and toes go numb.
They need the cold and the snow-quiet to sing so sweet.
Listen carefully, and you’ll hear everything.
About flax-golden tales. Photo by Carey Farrell. Text by Erin Morgenstern.