Prompt: Write a story about snow that isn’t snow.

Didn’t get around to writing tonight, so enjoy an older prompt of mine originally posted on a tumblr blog my sister and I share:

I looked up from the microscope and blinked slowly.

Surely not, the only thought my mind could manage.

I dragged my hand through unkempt, tangled hair. I spent time slowly and deliberately tucking wayward curls behind my ears, buying myself time to comprehend the enormity located just two feet away.

Making what I hoped wasn’t a very noticeable attempt to steady my hand I reached forward to adjust the focus dial on the scope.  A nervous glance left and right revealed co-workers oblivious to anything beyond their own work. I licked my lips, bent my neck, and placed my eye to the view. I couldn’t stop the quick gasp, but hopefully it was quiet enough to escape notice.

It was still there. The message hadn’t disappeared. The snowflake was as beautiful as any other in its complex simplicity, but this one… with each breath I exhaled more writing showed along the grooves of its hexagons and spines. A message that began somewhere else, whispered when the snowflake was merely vapor in the atmosphere was captured and now it was revealing itself to me. A message meant only for me, from my mother dead now for over 3 years.

Warm tears slid down my cheeks, falling onto the slide. The snow wasn’t snow, it was frozen vapor of our lost ones whispered hopes, wishes, dreams, advice, encouragement… EVERYTHING being captured in the atmosphere and drifting down on us.


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