What lies hidden underneath
the ever-moving wall of whiteness?
Behind the legions of individuals
portraying a united stance.
Are we to assume that similarity
has meaning beyond what’s on the surface?
Momentary windows reveal a grayness
that invokes feelings of satirical gloom.
A snowstorm with a conscious perhaps,
yet morose and unhappy with itself.
Is there a message that projects itself so loud
that it’s beyond our comprehension to hear it?
Watching the path of a single swirling flake
does nothing but add additional confusion.
It’s a single vehicle in a great congestion
of commuters with different intentions.
The direction is everywhere and nowhere
but subtly kept from anyone’s knowledge.
And the frequency lends a feeling of uncertainty
as life often does.
Derivation of the depth, age, and length
of a snowstorm seems a mathematical impossibility.
But the attempts continue to be made
by ambitious calculators and statisticians.
Perhaps the digression does something
to divert our attention from the growing drifts.
Another worthy layer of debate emerges
each time our perspective changes.
Strange how looking skyward at falling flakes
evokes something magical and wonderful.
When looking down at the ground the accumulation
invokes opposition to that same beauty.
The conundrum of classification becomes more
than just a scholarly endeavor.
Is the message of the crowded sky
more important than that of the ground?
Or is the entire premise of both appearances
simply another illusion?
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