Sublimity in Snowfall

There is a sound that only the snow makes.
It is quiet, almost silent
But if you listen, you can breathe it in,
Absorb the dampened air through your skinpores.
The snow is cleansing.
Not because of its blanketing whiteness but because of the cold that shakes you.
The consciousness of flakes gathered into one; you can hear them chatter,
“Come here. Come stick to me.”

A single snowflake is almost nothing,
Many simply melt on tongues.
Even these flakes have a purpose—they guide a smile, create a shine.
Just take a look at all the snow mounds, the caps of mountains, the north and southern poles—
Single snowflakes had to land there, had to gather.
Single flakes spoke to each other, “Hey there, you can come stick with me.”
Suddenly single is septillion,
a septillion become one.
Suddenly a single snowflake is most sublime.