I've been watching snow fall most of the day. It fascinates me. Cloud messages. White magic. Unwritten and unique. They say each graceful one is different. Like souls. Rushing, dawdling, twisting down to earth.Should I watch each tiny piece of sky, stay with one gorgeous piece of it from first sight into end? Gorge senses on the whole she-bang? Map the journeys spiralling so close before they sweep away? How can they do this, show me every awesome swerve and curve, so intimately honest that every landing all but tears me open?
They never seem to collide, though, no matter how bizarre the flight-fall. Perhaps they know how not to interfere with another's path. Perhaps I just can't see when or where they touch and change. Each crystal beautifully decorates, completes a whole. Why can’t we be like this? Or are we? Maybe it just seems a very different story once we hit the ground, running. Perhaps we just forget how magically we embrace in our swerves and curves as we stumble on wet earth?
