Does It Still Make a Sound?

If a branch snaps in the middle of the woods and no one's around, does it still make a sound?

In the middle of the woods, snow breaks out of the afternoon, cloudy and distilled sky.

At first, the snow shyly makes its' way down, down, down, until finally it feels the ground beneath it, the ground not noticing as if the snow were a fly.

The white flakes catch onto every object like a parasite, but most noticeably, it starts to cover a naked tree, specifically a thin and long branch.

The snow at first feels like nothing to the branch, but as days pass of slow, continuously falling flakes, the weight slowly, ever so slowly, starts to build.

Once exactly one week and four days have passed, the snow has piled on top of the branch into a skyscraper.

As it sit atop like a gleaming obese man on his comfortable red cushioned chair, the skinny branch cries for mercy as silent snaps occur.

Then on one partly cloudy day, the snow finally desides to kick start back to life, but the branch is almost all the way bent backwards, and one anonymous, dastardly snow flake gracefully lands on the tip top of the snow skyscraper, and wretched snapping can be heard as the branch screams its' final cry.

And there the branch lay, in the midst of the soft and seemingly peaceful snow, left to rot and decompose.

Now I ask you once more, if a branch snaps in the middle of the woods and no one's around, does it still make a sound?