One of my favourite Christmas cards ever received features a black and white photo of children, togged out in 60s-era parkas and mittens, arms spread wide, catching
snowflakes on their tongues. It seems to be a universal response, regardless your age. Maybe in our era it has something to do with the pace of life racing past - we want to capture something that still exists in its own time and pace, unpushed by demands. Snowflakes fall, float, are gusted about by wind. They simply are, in all their complex
crystalline selves. I'll take a double helping of that, please.
I can almost hear the "hush" of the forest, flakes gently falling and want to be making tracks behind the big trees. :) L
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