Today the snow made another sortie against the world. The sky poured out all it had, hæmorrhaging fat white belly feather flakes in hypnotic pirouettes towards the stolid ground. We should have drowned. Should have felt it pile up around feet trapped in allied ice and then inch upward, unstoppably, beyond knees, thighs, crotch, waist, breasts, shoulders - towards chin, before filling up mouth nose eyes ears hair and carrying on piling onto the tops of our heads, pushing down upon us. Should have been paralysed with the weight and the cold of it, as it locked us into blue-white stasis - limbo and death, diamond hard.
But we weren't. The covering on the ground never got deeper, unable to reach beyond a 3 inch barrier, no matter how determined the blizzard. The wily ground drew the snow to itself, and it was water, and the snow could not defeat it.
We are not unscathed. The snow that there was still covered the paths and the roads and the plants and the houses. The ice tomorrow will be thick and dangerous, and the world will still be snow-blind. But it will_________eventually_________melt.