Snowflakes feather down from the sky in delicate ferocity, not knowing their imminent destination, but certainty hurling towards their death.
I wince as the mass slaughter of snowflakes is gruesomely displayed on my windshield.
Amongst the blustering winds each snowflake is traced and clustered with it's own design.
But the meticulous sculpting of these snowflakes serves no purpose as they all meld together creating the sugar kissed veil of whiteness.
I trust that if I were to be a pinwheeling snowflake that your peach caressed skin would preserve me for what I am if only for a brief moment to absorb my recherche crystal formation with appreciation.