The trees out my window dropped the last of their leaves this week, and now, each branch is carefully outlined, white on top, black on the bottom.  Rembrandt couldn't have captured such detail. 

The city has disappeared; earlier, I could see the top of the Space Needle through the trees two blocks down; now, the trees themselves are slipping away into the night. 

The streetlight throws a cone of light into the trees and the darkness; the motionless white branches seem to defy the fluttering bright flakes. 

It's all part of the dance, the dance of the snowy night.  The brightest dark there can be. 

It's too beautiful to watch alone.