The Grey Snow

She told me, just before passing away : ''Only once you'll see the grey snow dancing just for you, will you know I am truly gone.''

Today, braving the frozen white wastes I hold as my most cherished possession a simple wooden box. Out here time has stopped, if not for the lazy white dots falling featherly on the now much colder world. My steps are so loud they echo in the stillness of the air. The only witnesses, the unending rows of green needles and coarse bark. My every breath summoning ephemeral clouds, vanishing just as soon as they appear, just like everything in this life..

The wind, nay, the unrelenting gale blasting my face as I make my way to the snowy clearing, to this significant place. Right there, this seemingly unremarkable white plain between pines and fences, where she and I shared our happiest moment. A one of a kind instant of bright lucidity, of love and gratefulness to life and the world. And making angels there absolutely alone together we talked about our deepest most secret ideas.

Thinking back, it was like the purity and isolation brought forth the very best of our bond. Even now, standing here in the stark winter, I can feel it, this transcendental link between us.

I open the box, tears falling and freezing on my cheeks as the snow whirling there in front of me shifts to grey, and dances in a fatal spectacle, a last farewell, a loving maelstrom.