Flakes

Flakes Too many to count, uniquely fragile, intricacy never duplicated. They fall without wind or sound or effort to cradle the earth below. When they come to rest on your lips and tongue They vanish leaving only the lightness of cool. They blanket the tree spires which rise high above, surrounding your web tracks, blanketing the raw earth and rocks below, creating high granite shapes of roundness, with craggy edges. As you soundlessly set out on webbed feet, Everything is compressed to be covered by the falling flakes, which are soon indistinct from the covering snow. You are alone in the silent. Thoughts expand within, Like flakes, can only be imagined, As they leave no imprint after vanishing.