topographe

Stand in the snow too long. To feel winter in the tips of your fingers and the lobes of your ears. Stay until the silence of snow falling becomes a symphony. The way the world is dead but no, not really dead at all, only meditating, wrapping itself in water, perfected. Stay until the moment of waking from a dream, reality as the snowflakes; borne ever so softly down. Stay weary one, stay and watch the air be reborn.