I need only to look outside at the snowflakes spinning dizzily and without abandon in the wind, typing this with one hand and a pinky finger because its four peers are holding an apple, to remember how much I love nature.

I look over again and the heavy, thick snowfall is gone with nary a trace on the ground to recall its passing. But I sometimes I wish I was that delicate, fragile but still lovely snowflake, short-lived but blissfully oblivious to its falling.