Snowflakes are gently falling, wet, heavy, cold. The air is still.  Yet, as if aligned with a predetermined path down, they fall, curling and dancing on invisible threads. How beautifully and carefully they weave the fabric of the newly formed blanket of white.

The landscape now changes. Familiar objects and colors fade as I grasp for their memories.  Each flake masking more and more of what I know, as more of my roots and my foundation fade.

They blur my vision as they spin and race to weave the blanket. They only create the illusion that what I know is no more.

For when I pause to breathe, I see. These dancing flakes inspire a new kind of looking, as if through a clouded window that needs to be cleared. My breath the cloth that wipes the window clean.

Faith reminds me that I know where I am, who I am, even as all I know disappears under the blanket.

And then, almost as quickly as the storm started, the flurry ends. Almost as quickly as they appeared the flakes melt away.

With this new moment, the sun shines. With this new moment, rays of light now dance on the same threads that wove the blanket.

Once more I am reunited with the familiar. Finding my roots and the landscape just as I had left it – once buried, never lost.