Even the whitest of snow turns ashen,
mere slush in respect to the
pristine beauty it once was
until the heat becomes too much
and overwhelms the weak defenses
of the innocently fair flurry of frost.

I find myself wondering
whether the snow will ever prevail,
stay brilliantly unscathed of the sun.
Protected forever from harm,
dirty tires and gaudy children’s rain boots.
A chilly garden of Eden,
trapped in a moment of time
and wishing to stay there endlessly.
A constant shield of hurt
with built-in insulation—
no worries of melting
into a puddle of loneliness,
anxieties about fitting in
with the other snowflakes,
or disheartening thoughts of
Spring’s inevitable arrival.
No uncertainties about whether or not
it will ever have the grandeur of an igloo,
the strength of a magnificent snow fort,
or the ever-sought exquisiteness
of a glorious ice castle.

If the snow suddenly got
everything it had ever dreamed of—
a single moment frozen in time’s cold abyss,
everything, for that full moment
would be flawless.

And it would be enough
to make it through one more
disgustingly sweet Spring
and one more horribly sticky Summer
to have that heavenly night
where everything begins again with Winter,
and endless frozen moments await.