There is a particular silence that comes with the first snow in Kashmir. You often know it has snowed before you open the curtains. The world sounds different. Softer. Muffled.
And then, for one morning, everyone looks up. People step outside just to stand in it. Children shout. Strangers smile at each other. Phones come out, but so does something older: wonder.
By the fourth or fifth snowfall, of course, it becomes an inconvenience. Roads, power cuts, cold feet.
But the snow has not changed. Only our attention has.
That is the whole of Bloomseeing in one winter. The question is never whether there is something worth seeing. It is whether we still have eyes for it after the novelty fades.