Snow

“Granddad, where does the snow come from?” Yon was seven and curious in the way that only seven year-olds can be. His grandfather was old enough for his beard to reach his belt and to Yon that meant he was wise. Maybe the wisest.

Around them the snow gushed, swarmed and danced around them as they sat, Yon nibbled on frost as his grandfather puffed contentedly on his pipe.

“Granddad?” Yon asked. His grandfather was so wise that he could think for hours and Yon wanted get his answer and then go play with the other boys.

The old man stretched out his crystalline arm and pointed it at a faraway mountain. “That is the Mother who gave birth to us all. She loves us so much that she sends her littlest children, the snow, out into the world so that they might grow strong and one day walk with us.”

Yon stretched out his hand and watched as the snow gathered. The little flakes clumped together and rested. “Snow can walk?”

Grandfather closed his eyes and smiled. “If it can learn, it can learn to walk.”

Yon nodded. He knew he had just heard something very wise even if he didn’t understand it. He blew the clump of snow off his hand and watched as it danced away in the wind.

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