Along the way, this particular one will say shhhh. It will say, quiet now. Listen.

We can take the long way.

Care about me, remember all the wonderful things, but don't keep thinking you should have done anything differently. Did she imagine him saying that to her? Or did she have the strength to see as the path to survival?

These words fall back to earth like the snowflakes that made this place what it is. There they sit, indistinguishable from others. On my descent maybe I'll rearrange them into a different pile. Maybe someone else will pick one up and use it for their own. Maybe the sum of all the conversations is sitting there below the lift line. It will melt and return to the earth. Those words will re-absorb into the soil and make a soft landing or a creche for windblown seeds.

What a strange combination of caution and recklessness. Of preparation and being in the moment. I suppose they’re all shades of grey. Just like the sunlight. Stripping away the contours. Putting me in between the same sky and the same land where I've always existed. But not, all the sudden.