The snow fell at a perfect pace with a perfect density.
I could follow the listless, melancholic path of each
individual snowflake to the ground. Each flake, robust but
humble, floated with composed purpose, received by a
white yielding ground with soft repose.
There seemed to be clarity and organization
to this gentle snowfall. I don’t suspect it will last, but I will
study it with fervent attention until it dissipates into a still
grey air or rages into
a confusion of white tumult.
