Tried to eat snow. But it was too fluffy and floated away from my
reaching tongue. All this shuffling through flurries, wears me out in the good
sort of way. Then it is the rushing as sled hits hill and I am sky-bound for a
glorious collage of moments. I’m in a wonderland, if only for the last hour of
daylight. And oh, the day this is now—so different from the one I awoke to. So
much whiter and livable. Maybe hopeful.
After supper it is declared a time for development of art and intellect. Pens, pencils, books, paper. If only the little brother would stop jumping. But I would miss it if he did stop. Jump away. I will intellect on.
Of a sudden, he jumps and I see snow again. Curtsy and twirl. A dance of flurry fairies—all the forest has come to see. Little foxes prance with frost on their noses and tails. Between trees and across a frozen lake. We shouldn’t be able to see each other but for the oddest of unknowns, we do. A royal witnessing of wonder. I am not a queen though. I am a baffled bystander. Too often we make ourselves queens. I will be careful not to.
Just watch. And say thank you.
They smile—the intellectuals now—at their work on paper. And I look to mine; a grin of anticipation starts to crawl up my cheeks. But no good. It is empty.
Doesn’t seem to matter how greatly I think, there is no way of saying it. That’s that. So I must choose from these: speak and bewilder? Or just stick to thoughts, that I might appear correctly put-together? The choice is made, for this night at least. Don’t be so silly as to ask. There are words here.
After supper it is declared a time for development of art and intellect. Pens, pencils, books, paper. If only the little brother would stop jumping. But I would miss it if he did stop. Jump away. I will intellect on.
Of a sudden, he jumps and I see snow again. Curtsy and twirl. A dance of flurry fairies—all the forest has come to see. Little foxes prance with frost on their noses and tails. Between trees and across a frozen lake. We shouldn’t be able to see each other but for the oddest of unknowns, we do. A royal witnessing of wonder. I am not a queen though. I am a baffled bystander. Too often we make ourselves queens. I will be careful not to.
Just watch. And say thank you.
They smile—the intellectuals now—at their work on paper. And I look to mine; a grin of anticipation starts to crawl up my cheeks. But no good. It is empty.
Doesn’t seem to matter how greatly I think, there is no way of saying it. That’s that. So I must choose from these: speak and bewilder? Or just stick to thoughts, that I might appear correctly put-together? The choice is made, for this night at least. Don’t be so silly as to ask. There are words here.
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