Each piece has it's own identity. A soft blanket that comes together ever so delicately, merging into one large mass. Fragile. Resilient. A beautiful, unachievable perfection that quickly disappears. It is awaited and loathed. It delights and stifles. It creates beauty and obstacle in it's final destination. Cold and wet. Children make you their weapons and hold you sacred in their memories. Adults push you aside and forget the pleasure you once brought with each new winter.
For the first time in my life I saw the city buried beneath your casual heaviness. I awoke at 6.30am and found a calm, quiet place- the only sound was the faint crunch made with each of my heavy, awkward steps. My street was quiet and covered. Everyone I encountered smiled and laughed and waved. The city was under your spell, binding us all together for an hour, a day, a week. But each day you disappeared. Your perfection faded. The good will dwindled. But I knew you would be back, I just could not predict when.
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