By the falling of the night, the first snow flakes arrived from the heights of the sky, and dancing sluggishly through the frozen air, they landed on the ground. A ground heavy with the debris of humanity, heavy with malicious thoughts, heavy with the unnecessary fears. The people had abandoned the streets, scared and satisfied at the same time, satisfied by the victories of the day, the amount of money spent on food to supply the upcoming two days of apocalypse and scared of the insufficient variety of goods they purchased to survive the short worsening of weather. The crowd thinks that the real power of man is the amount of unnecessary goods purchased, the crowd thinks that they are influencing the faith of the world by the quantity of food ingurgitated, the crowd that forgot the real meaning of life, the crowd that leads the apparent norms of society, norms that say a rain or a snowfall are unwanted accidents.
The snow didn’t know in its way of the panic that preceded it and came on light clouds, traveling under the skies and sending the flakes to dance in the freeze. In their dance they will be falling tired on the ground, silently piling up a blanket of pure white. Their thickness closed the view to small distances, reducing the world to an intimate space, a familiar one, the one that lost its being sometimes in the ancient times of our childhood, when, in the coldness of dark winters, among the fluffy layers of snow stood the homes of peace with their hearths of burning crackling fires.
Overnight there will be gales of wind carrying away the snowflakes, then other gales will bring other snowflakes back. The snowfall is going to do its job without hesitation,without human intervention to stop it. There will be heroes, courageous men and women, mastering monstrously energized machines that will spend the night plowing and salting, trying to save what is called normalcy, to save civilization from a slow down in its course for generating profits.
In the morning you will find the whiteness on the window, a new world renewed and purified by coldness. The people will stay angry inside their bunkers, angry on the harshness of the winter, angry on the absence of the sun, missing the meaning of one of the most beautiful manifestations of Mother Nature, the incolor water magically being transformed into the purest white snow.
We, the creators, want to make it be at all the time shiny and warm like a beautiful morning on the southern shores and we are aimed to realize it. Our enclosed spaces are easily climatically controlled by only the touch of a finger. For a reason like that we look at the snow fall as an end-of-world event. Our race to super technologized future distrurbed the natural ways of the planet of managing the weather, our fossil fuels burnt at unscalable pace had already brought the summer in the midst of winter at northern latitudes and, though concerned by the catastrophic consequences of such perturbations, we prefer the unusual warmth to any variation of temperature.
Distressed by the whiteout in the view of their windows, many will curse for the sudden though forecasted and to be short lived slow down they are supposed to encounter in their marathon to goals they hate. In that, by thinking everything in metrics and graphics, they forgot what is the most essential meaning of this white, the snow being a magnificent beautiful manifestation of the continuous cycle of water in nature, perpetually regenerating and redistributing itself for the health of the blue planet.
We should not forget the fairy tales of winter, the memories that themselves look like fairy tales, the pleasure of watching the magic dance of snowflakes and the pleasure of sticking the boots deep in the snow, the pleasure of receiving the clean crystals on the face, the pleasure of immersing in the sea of a purified water transformed by the nature wizardry into a stable mass to rest on the ground and paradoxically insulate its microcosm with its coldness.
With the first snow flake, the innocence returned on earth.
3 thoughts on “THE SNOW OF INNOCENCE”
That sweetest soul of yours …
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You are the sweetest muse!
nor poetic neither philosophically but both! bravo 👋
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