Fresh Snow

I used to cherish new snow, the mound kind that no one has stepped in.

I would want to touch it and at the same time feel conflicted about disturbing its beauty. I wanted to keep it nice, so that I wouldn't lose it; so that I could enjoy it whenever I desired.

Then about 28 years into my life a realization finally settled in. Snow melts. The essential enjoyment it brings is temporary.

I cannot hold on to fresh snow.