If I look really hard,

I can hear the clouds call my name.

They are all one.

There is no way for the naked eye to differentiate

One cloud from the other

and they all smell like snow.

To those that don’t know

that smell is like cold soft air

The kind that climbs down from the stratosphere

And falls weightless

like tiny birds.

Look hard.

Look fast.

They seem to forget what they are

so quickly

before tearfully releasing back

from which they came.

From which they came.

About clutterheart

You don't know me, but you will.
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2 Responses to Snow

  1. Heather Mohan says:

    love! Glad to see you back 🙂


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