I am one of a kind. Unique. Different. Individual. Solitary. There is no other like me. How can that be? I mean, surely there must be SOME other that is exactly the same as me. But no, I am told that none of us are the same. We are all created individually. Surely God must have had at least a bit of trouble at some point in time, creating a different pattern. I mean, there are only so many you can have ... right? But no. Every one of us is different.
I dream of this as I flutter softly, slowly, sometimes speeding up but slowing down again in a matter of seconds. The wind takes me where'er it chooses. I am content. I know that where ever I fall, it is that place where I was always intended to be. There I will sit, until the warmth of the ground melts me, first from the outside and slowly moving in until I am a mere drop of water. Someone may come. Perhaps they will fly straight over me in a toboggan or on a pair of skis. Or maybe the rain will wash me away. Perhaps I will land in a stream or a pond and be melted almost instantly by the cold water. Maybe I will land on a busy street and some tall man in a black suit will stand on me as he waits for the bus. Perhaps I land on the tongue of a small child trying to taste the snow. Or maybe I will fall in a wood, and not a living sole will notice me.
But it is no matter where I land. For that is where I shall remain ... well, that is until I am whooshed back up into the air as I am evaporated and I will become part of a small cloud once more. I can see the ground now, the cloud from whence I have fallen has disappeared. All I can see is a field of white. White trees are scattered throughout this field and a small white house I can just make out over to the north. I can see a small dot down below. Closer I fall, faster I fly. Yes, the dot is becoming clearer. It is a small child. A little girl. With a sledge and mittens, a red hat and a fluffy cream coat, which appears yellow against the pale snow. Closer, faster. Yes, there she goes, flying down the slope. Closer, faster. I am almost there now, my flight will shortly end. But wait, the wind has picked me up again. I am swept away. Now white is all I see. Here we go, falling once more. I am going to fall onto the roof of the white house. Smoke is billowing from the chimney. No wind, do not take me there where I will be melted before I land. Yes, over to the left a little. That's it. I have fallen. I can see more flakes up above slowly falling towards me. There is the little girl. I can see her from the roof. She is laughing. Someone is with her. A woman. A pregnant woman. Now they are embracing.
They are gone. I cannot see the woman or the girl. I have been covered and will shortly melt. I am content. This is my life. The life of a flake of snow. Different from all the rest. Unique. Individual. Solitary.