17. Graupel

The snow was falling in large, dream-filled orbs of graupel that were rounded to a seeming perfection – lit gloriously by the porch light and backlit triumphantly by nothing. A pair of eyes could, and did, see such shapes amidst such contrast as the majesty of one million and one bone-white meteors fled from the blackest corners of space. A daydream at night that lasted hours had come and gone within several seconds.

Through the relative invention of conjuring up, slipping into, and snapping out of a mere illusion of fancy, a monument to growth had been erected.

A child’s eyes had seen the snow, the dream, the wonder that lent one to the other. And an elder’s mind would recall it, lastly, before cerebral atrophy met its quota and awarded a death bed its namesake.

Yes, the person died, as did we all. However, the majority of the time clocked between the body’s definitions of “child” and “elder” had been spent fascinated, not disinterested, which is more than can be said about most of us.

 

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