I wanna be snow when I grow up.
This snow, in particular, that clings to my window today.
Tenacious. Gorgeous. Unapologetic. Vulnerable.
I stand inside and watch as it dances in the wind. I know it’s the wind’s force that whips it about, but my heart says it’s really each flake’s choice to twirl and twist and spin before they fall again, going from uniquely one to collective all in one swift instant.
Even on the ground it’s mesmerizing. Pure as the proverbial driven stuff but with a not-so-hidden wicked streak that teases and taunts. The epitome of nice and naughty, it is at once radiant and daunting. It continually dazzles. Persistently awes.
It will melt but won’t really be gone, seeping in deep to refresh, to nourish, to promote the beauty that will bud come spring and summer. Diligent and dutiful and completely sure of why it’s here and what purpose it serves.
We should all be snow when we grow up.