snowball

It is different things for different people. And it’s so vague that you really know what or how someone else experiences it. With time, it may alter. It matures. It evolves. It can become cynical. But never cyclical. It does not repeat itself. For each person, it has a unique signature, a rocky fingerprint, an alluring scent. It can be an avalanche. For each person, it’s one avalanche throughout their life. Snow rolling down from the tip of an upset mountain, sometimes it will snag and fizzle out. Other times, it will snowball into something bigger and powerful, more magnificent than the clump of frozen water that it came from. With the first, it was excitement. With the second, comfort. The third was falling into the snowball. Immersing yourself fully in it. Enjoying the ride. The fourth. A cleanse from the black snow that had swirled inside. That was drowning, suffocating, poisoning. And then there’s hope. Maybe there’s more. Maybe there’s one that isn’t an impediment. As it rolls down the hill while the sun glows on the horizon, warming the mountain with its groggy tendrils of light, the snowball helps you become stronger, firmer, wiser. Happier.