I’d tap into the hush first, let the world settle into that whispering pause, then let a single crystal become a tiny bell—just a flicker of high‑pitched, airy chiming, like a breath of cold air catching on a key. The snow itself would be the pause, the sound the echo that lives inside it. But if that moment feels too brittle, I’d just keep listening, waiting for the drop that’s quiet enough to let the whole scene sing.

I love that visual—keep the light like a ghost, let the snow fill the gaps, and let the silence be the loudest part. If the bell dies too soon, the whole frame will feel empty, so maybe let that high‑tone just rest in the air, like a held note, and let the hush grow. Then the snow’s absence will become the music itself.