Today there was a layer of snow draped elegantly over the world outside my window. Tufts of white spiraled from the cloudy sky, dancing onto the flurry-crowned flowerpots; bushes and tree limbs ached and groaned under heavy loads, bending almost double in an effort to rid themselves of the proof of winter's prowess. Somehow, all of this happened while I slept, transforming the world into something alien and beautiful and timeless -- and though the moment that sunlight hits ice to reflect into your soul is infinite, the chilly flakes will die quickly, and February will pass, and life will continue despite their absence. Despite my slumber, or their death, or my death, life will continue infinitely for a moment and then stretch forever, so far outreaching to extremes that a moment becomes completely negligible. A snow flake's life starts and ends so quickly; but within that consciousness, if there be such a thing blessed upon a crystallized whiff, was there a brief eternity? I think about my own life and the eventuality of death, and I feel as if I'll never end...but I also feel brief as well, stunted, already finished.
A snowflake is so small. Thousands have slapped my windshield with puny malice, a pitiful display of strength that is wiped away by a mechanical wiper. The particles that compose the frozen tendrils of water are smaller still; perhaps the amount of minuscule components tends towards infinity. And just as they are immeasurably small, so the universe is immeasurably gigantic. It is all so small and yet so big at the same time. Maybe that's what the true meaning of eternity is; existing in a moment, being small and mortal and alone, and yet in that moment also being joined by the grand multitude of the universe, magnificent and endless.
