Conditional Reality

Snow’s odor lurks near house keys. You hear snow’s squeaks when you step on a loose floorboard. You see snow’s blue on a fragment of egg shell. Snow silences the hubbub of the world, speckling the air with irregular clumps, coating the roads, closing down schools, marooning you where you are, tugging at tree branches, powdering the hills, a canvas for snow sculpture, an invitation to press fresh footprints, a miracle of lake and ocean water transformed to this meditative pixilation, this white semisolid aggregate of hexagonal crystals, this melting back after a time into fragile memories and phantom reminders.