The Short Dance

I am watching snow flakes dance their moment as snow flakes. In a minute, they will become snow. Then lose their identity and pile, one upon the other, to cover the grass, the trees, and the footprints I left while getting wood for the fireplace.

Snow flakes are like thoughts I daily have of Ani. About the identity of a girl who let us be curious about her dance through life. As an artist, perhaps. The identity we watched develop from endless nights near her crib to secretly laughing when her permanent teeth left marks upon her brother’s naughty hands. Then, like the snow flakes, watched her slowly discover herself. Always with radiance. Always leaving room for others to enjoy her presence.
… My thoughts are like the flakes that dance yet while knowing that they will soon stop being snow flakes but cover the ground and the trees. And the unbearable realization I have that I am still here, carrying wood for the fireplace. Soon, I will be warm. Soon, the flakes will become snow. And cover themselves with themselves. Without regret, that once, they were snow flakes.

January 23, 2008