Dark and quiet street, with sleet falling lightly, providing a soundtrack for only me. This isn’t dent your car sleet, rather it’s the granular bits of ice that tickle your nose as they bounce off it kind. The granules gently ricochet off every surface until finding a resting place. The sleet makes different sounds based on what it makes impact on. Dead oak leaves that refuse to let go their grip on the tree they sprouted from offer a snare drum, while other hard surfaces give a chorus of thousands of tinny taps. My feet make short work of the ice granules with their own steady beat; “crunch, crunch, crunch, crunch...” and on it went until I retired to the house. The sound of sleet followed me inside. It was just what I needed to hear.