Wishing Wine
Once…
Outside in the evening, when everything was blurred deep white — and more falling. Slow, like feathery dreams touching down and adding to the pale sweep. Tree limbs going two-tone: growing ghosts on top, with jet beneath. The sky was so low that it was breaking around you. Swirling. Mixing with your breath. The ground’s glow rose, whiter, more perfect by the second, as the sky dimmed to lavender. Then an oddly luminous violet. You could almost see the veins and crystaline angles in the flakes.
And the silence.
It swelled like a tide.
I grew still, and closed my eyes. I made my breath as slow as the falling. After a while, I could hear a soft whispery rustling. Quiet as cat’s paws… When I looked again, it was darker than I had expected. Night was taking the details away and I was starting to feel the cold beneath my skin. I left there, then.
But I still remember the sound of snow falling.
Now, I am drinking water and wishing it wine…