It is snowing–big, wet flakes coming out of a gentle, quiet, gray sky. There's no anger in this snowfall, nothing being whipped, thrown or driven. It's simply snowing. It's snowing simply.

This snow invites: "Watch me," it says. "Enter me; tilt back your head, open your mouth and try to catch me; let me land on your eyelashes…lips…nose. I collapse into water drops on your cheek; I become a tear. I tickle. I kiss."

This snow loves and accepts any upturned face willing to stop, to be silent, to receive the love of snow. Any face. Mine. Yours.

Text and image © 2010 by Dirk deVries. All rights reserved.