I
noticed it was snowing, dirty snow,
big, fat flakes drifting slowly down.
I
was not surprised, although it wasn’t cold—
such
strange things have been known
to
happen. Now I was dreaming,
I
was dancing in the snow, head
thrown
back, arms out, hands open
to catch the flakes that floated down,
warm
and soft on my fingers
like soft,
greasy ashes. And now
we were running and screaming. . . .
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