The Flight

Imagine the flight of one dusty flake,
From the blue azure atmosphere,
It’s perilous journey,
Among trillions and trillions,
Cold and wet,
In descent.

The time it takes to become,
To mature,
The time it takes to descend,
And dazzle a trillion eyes,
In splendid,
Unique,
Elegance,

Is consequential,
When one imagines,
The final leg of the trip:
Its soft, swift, gauzy landing,
Onto a woolen hat,
The pink tip-of-tongue,
Or into a misshapen snowball.

A journey.
Is this the end?
Does the little powdered crystal,
Have a chance?
Life for this luxurious flake is not,
In the distance traveled,
From cloud to earth,
Or either palm to target.