This is the closest to heaven I might come, sitting in my hometown in early December, sipping a warm beverage, working on a fascinating project, glancing up to watch the snow fall.
It is so close, in fact, that I gather it must actually be heaven. For about the past 10 years I have been existing in the Promised Realm. We are all in it. It is fantastic.
Every person is a snowflake; every snowflake has a spirit. Some drift in lazy circles down to the pavement, others rush madly to the forest on a nearly-horizontal gale. Some come in clumps, never parting from their companions as they fall to the grass, still others melt long before their descent ends on a rooftop.
It seems that these traits — the type of path, the landing spot, the size and shape — are the vital characteristics. That this is what matters. “We are all unique.”
True! But this is not what should define us. For in the end, we all melt. We are all borne of cloud and we are all destined to ocean. We ARE the oceans. To consider us as unique flakes is a part of the beauty of the fall, but this is a transient state, a temporary, momentary, oft-repeated blink in the life cycle of the oceanparts.
And here I sit watching these fragile oceansnows fluffing down, visible against the graceful, embracing treeforms, the inverted roots of what holds the soil together and makes this place home.
Right now, perfectly now, perfectly home.