Winter will end soon.

You can feel it in the light. The sun lingers a little longer. The air still bites, but not as sharply. The days begin to stretch like someone gently pulling open a curtain.

And yet, before winter leaves, it gives us one last gift.

A walk on clouds.

If you are lucky enough to wake up after fresh snowfall, you know what I mean. The world looks softer. Cleaner. Almost unreal. The ground is covered in white, untouched snow. No footprints. No noise. No rush.

For a moment, it feels like the sky came down to rest beneath your feet.

As children, we never questioned this magic. We stepped outside and believed we were walking on clouds. We jumped into them. We left our small marks behind and laughed at the sound they made under our boots.

But somewhere along the way, we stopped seeing it that way.

Now we call it “snow.”
We call it “cold.”
We call it “another thing to shovel.”

And we forget that it is also a miracle.

Winter is not always easy. It is long. It can feel heavy. It asks for patience. It asks us to slow down when we would rather run. It asks us to sit with ourselves a little longer than we like.

But in return, it gives us moments that no other season can.

The quiet after snowfall.
The soft crunch under your steps.
The way the world holds its breath.

Walking on fresh snow is not just physical. It is emotional.

It reminds us that life can still feel untouched. That there are spaces where we can begin again. That even after storms, there is softness.

When you step on snow, it gives way. Not completely. Not dangerously. Just enough to remind you that the ground beneath you is alive.

Isn’t that how growth feels too?

A little unstable at first.
A little unfamiliar.
But beautiful.

You don’t need proof that this is magic. You don’t need someone to explain it scientifically. You don’t need measurements or data.

Just close your eyes for a moment.

Stand still.

Feel what is under your feet.

It is not just frozen water. It is a reminder that the ordinary can become extraordinary when we allow it.

Magic does not always shout. It often whispers.

It whispers in the way snow reflects light.
In the way your breath becomes visible in cold air.
In the way everything feels possible when the world turns white.

Winter will end soon. The clouds will rise back into the sky. The ground will turn to grass and mud and familiar paths again.

But before it goes, winter invites you to do something simple:

Step outside.
Walk slowly.
Pretend, just for a moment, that you are above the world instead of stuck in it.

Because maybe you are.

Maybe magic has never been somewhere far away. Maybe it has always been under your boots, waiting for you to notice.

We spend so much of our lives looking up at the clouds, wishing for something bigger, something better, something more.

But sometimes the gift is this:

The sky comes down to meet you.

And all you have to do is walk.

GK

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Published by georgi.kisyov

31 thoughts on “Walking on Clouds”

    1. That means so much — thank you.
      Snow has its own quiet kind of magic, but I truly believe every place has its version of “walking on clouds.” Sometimes it’s morning mist, warm sand, or sunlight after rain. The wonder is everywhere — it just wears different clothes. 😊
      GK

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      1. Where I live, we are surrounded by mountains and often clouds and mist cover them and then it becomes like another world. We just need to take the time to marvel exactly as you have said

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  3. Dear Georgi
    I found your posts extremely engaging. This too. I’m sorry I couldn’t respond to your posts earlier for long.
    I’m desperately eager to see likes of choosy writers like you.
    Thanks you very much for liking my post ‘Coffee’ 🌹

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  5. I live near the Bay of Fundy, home to the highest tides in the world. A trip to the beach in any season show the sky touching the sea and bringing peace to those who slow down enough to look and listen. Although I’m not fond of the cold, I do like the sense of slowing down, breathing deeply and waiting (for what I don’t know) quietly – or curled up beside the fireplace with my dog and cat. Winter is a time for reflection.

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    1. That sounds absolutely beautiful — the sky touching the sea feels like its own kind of walking on clouds. I love how you described that quiet waiting, even not knowing what for. Winter really does invite us to breathe deeper and reflect a little longer.
      GK

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  8. Where I live in New Jersey, we rarely get a lot of snow, although every 10-15 years we get bombarded. This year surprised us tenfold! It snowed about 18″ a month ago and finally started to melt. Now we’re expecting another 18″ tomorrow. I agree that it’s beautiful and magical at first, but I am not a fan of snow, especially when it sits for so long and starts to turn black. I will make every attempt to stop and admire its beauty, reluctantly so LOL.

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    1. Wow, that’s a true winter comeback! I completely understand — the first snowfall feels magical, but when it lingers and loses its sparkle, it tests our patience a little. I admire your honesty — even a reluctant pause to notice the beauty still counts. Stay safe and warm through the next round of “clouds.” ❄️😊
      GK

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  11. “It reminds us that life can still feel untouched. That there are spaces where we can begin again. That even after storms, there is softness.”
    What beautiful thoughts I will remember the next time it snows! ~ Rosie

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  12. This left me with a satisfied sigh. LOL. It’s such a gentle and meaningful reflection, because it reminds us how easily wonder slips past us when life becomes hurried and familiar. I was especially moved by the idea that what we now call “just snow” once felt like walking on clouds. Nothing about the snow itself changed. What changed was our attention. Somewhere along the way, we stopped seeing with the openness we once carried so naturally. And yet the invitation is still there, waiting quietly, asking us to slow down long enough to notice again.

    What stood out most was the connection between winter and renewal. Winter often feels like an ending, a barren and silent season, yet beneath that stillness something is being prepared. Scripture says, “To every thing there is a season, and a time to every purpose under the heaven” (Ecclesiastes 3:1). Even the cold, quiet seasons carry purpose. They soften us. They make space. They remind us that new beginnings often arrive quietly, not with noise, but with stillness.

    I also loved the image of the sky coming down to meet you. It captures the truth that meaning is not always found in escaping our lives, but in becoming present within them. Sometimes the most sacred moments are hidden inside ordinary things, waiting to be seen with unhurried eyes. Thank you for sharing this. It carries a quiet invitation to slow down, to notice, and to remember that even the simplest moments can hold more beauty than we realize.

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    1. Your reflection is just as meaningful as the post itself — thank you for taking the time to share it. I love how you described attention as the only thing that changed; that feels so true. Winter really does carry quiet purpose, preparing something beneath the surface while inviting us to slow down. I’m grateful the words felt like an invitation rather than just a story. 🤍❄️
      GK

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  13. I am constantly astounded and touched by your perceptiveness and equally your ability to translate the reality of the experience. It is true…about winter and all it offers…and how as adults we tend to focus on the logical as opposed to the soft gentleness the delightful smell on air announcing its arrival. The purity the tranquility the absolute silence even if momentary. So thank you for the delightful reminder there is perfection in each season and each moment.

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    1. Your words truly mean a great deal to me — thank you. I think we all carry that softness within us, even if adulthood teaches us to look first for logic. Winter has a way of gently reminding us that not everything needs to be explained to be felt. I’m grateful this reflection resonated with you and helped bring that quiet perfection back into view. ❄️
      GK

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