Sunday, December 24, 2023

Snowflake

One distinct memory from my childhood is from the days leading up to Christmas, always a magical time.

It was snowing outside, the flurries rushing this way and that, with no particular purpose to any of their movements.

It was cold out there, but I was inside, cozy and warm. I had my nose pressed up against the window, looking out. 

Someone had told me that every snowflake was unique — all hundred thousand million billion gazillion of them.

As I was thinking about that, wondering how it could possibly be true, or even how anyone could be sure about it, one particular snowflake crashed into the other side of the window, and melted away right before my eyes.

I had watched it die. It was one of a kind and the last thing it had seen before dying was me. In death it turned into a drop of water and slid down the outside of the glass.

We’d shared that moment together. Suddenly I felt like the window was really a mirror.

Merry Christmas everybody.

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