There was a small snowfall last night ... pinpoints of silence falling out of the sky ... wafting effortlessly around the street lights straining to be heard.
Softer than the word "hush," it seemed to whisper without a word, "Rest now. The sun will rise in the East tomorrow and you will always be a partless part of it."
Today, I will search out the shovel.
No need for dreams of "part" or "whole."