Snow

It was snowing again. The sky was plagued with white flakes as they descended the vague surroundings. I leaned into the sofa, tucking in the afghan that encased my lower body.

Snow was a familiar sight, not holding the amazement as it did many, many, moons ago. I had no idea if it was composed of molecules or atoms; I had no way of knowing for certain in such a secluded place, never venturing out of this little shack. But I had tried to mull it over, when this was all new and fresh. A headache always presented itself on such occasions, accepting was all I could do, or headaches would rule my tiny universe.

I felt a disturbance to my left so I lolled my head in that direction to see that the snow had finished its travel downwards.

And I waited.

In that still moment—it could have been a few minutes or hours, but without the sun or moon anywhere in sight only peach flesh it was impossible to tell—a shake that felt like a rumbling earthquake had vigorously erupted and the white flecks instantly shook up the ground and began its beguiling dance.

Sigh. It was snowing again, in this bore of a snow globe.