watched the prints of people past disappear.
And outside of Allison it was all quiet, and I thought for a moment I could hear the steady whisper of it falling, sticking, staying, but maybe it was just the snow hitting my jacket sleeves. I looked up, and it came to my face, my lips, my eyelashes and I smiled at the touch, smiled at the way it frosted the tops of the tree branches, the bikes leaning in their locks, obscured, the handrail of the stairs.
It makes me remember why I don't mind the cold so much, and it makes me remember what it means to stop and lean against the moments as they move past me. What it means to remember that I'm living.
Under the snowfall, I find all burdens lifted away.