It was snowing. Ordinarily it's difficult to appreciate the beauty of snow at the end of the season, but March is already roaring in her cage waiting to be unleashed and in the knowledge we are not there yet it becomes more possible to stop and appreciate where we are.
The snow is light but each individual flake is big. Cold enough that they don't stick together when they land and instead make a sparkly carpet of dust on the pavement, and glitter like tiny diamonds as they are caught in the streetlights briefly before landing in the ends of my hair where they become droplets of dew.
Sometimes, even with my eyelashes freezing together, I can appreciate the beauty of winter in the North. Sometimes when things are so beautiful it almost hurts to look. But I need that kind of ache because it inspires me to write. It inspires me to sing. It inspires me to breathe.