One Day: Open Letter to the Snowflake that Landed on the Tip of my Nose

To the snowflake that landed on the tip of my nose--

You arrived unexpectedly,

planting yourself on the tip of my nose

like a gentle kiss– sweetly and delicately.

My face was turned upwards,

eyes gazing absently at the branches of a tall spruce tree

with needles so plush,

each one a verdant green even in this dead of winter,

that I felt compelled to stop,

just for a moment,

and take in its perfectly commanding beauty.

Then along you came, and– plunk!– settled right on the tip of my nose,

pulling my wandering mind

instantly and joltingly back into my body.

I started to ponder the sweet and fleetingly temporary nature of this world–

its distinctly irreproducible sweetness perhaps owing to its very impermanence–

and realized that on some distant day,

one snowflake will be the last

to ever land on my upturned nose

ever again.

I thought of the day that I will have to leave this world for good,

and I thought of all that I will miss.

I can’t say what I will feel

at the time of my eventual departure from this plane of existence–

that one-way and inevitable journey unto the world beyond.

Yet as sure as I am that my spirit will feel boundless joy at its long-awaited homecoming,

I am also sure that my soul will look back on what was,

on what will never be again,

and dwell longingly on its many lifetimes lived,

wondering if it had all been but a dream.

It will ask

(not necessarily seeking nor expecting an answer)

if it is even possible to leave behind the pain and sorrow of this material realm

without likewise having to relinquish

its many joys and wonders.

Can one compare the pain of a stubbed toe with the joy of a hand held?

Or the sorrow of mourning a loved one with the wonder of opening your heart to another?

One day these things will exist for me no longer.

One day I will have

shed my final tear,

laughed my last laugh.

One day I will know not

the warmth of a long hug,

the tingle of a frozen face,

the fires of rage in the pit of my stomach,

the butterflies of hope fluttering about my heart.

One day there will be a last

family meal,

burnt finger,

snowy sunrise,

traffic jam,

thank-you note,

grocery list.

One day I will no longer

lovingly cut up mango and lemon loaf for my friends,

close my eyes to the soft pitter-patter of snowfall in a silent forest,

run my hands over the grass while an ant scurries over my sun-soaked legs,

bathe in the sweet smell of pine needles and fallen leaves in the golden light of autumn,

be lulled to sleep by the roars and rumbles of an epic thunderstorm,

set the table for a home-cooked meal with someone I love.

To the snowflake that landed on the tip of my nose–

you reminded me of all that is perfect and precious in my little life.

You also gently reminded me that

as flame is not always a raging inferno,

and wind is not always a gusting tornado,

so water is not always a deep, dark ocean.

Water is not only the inky depths of a choppy sea.

It is also the hazy halo that outlines the full moon on a misty night.

It is the glittering frost that coats the entire world while we sleep,

and the slow sheets of fog that weave through the yellow light of the streetlamps.

It is the lazy stream carving through soft earth over mossy rocks,

the imposing waterfall frozen mid-stream in huge sweeping arcs of ice,

and the perfectly still lake reflecting in its surface a double reality.

Just as water is all of these,

it is also sometimes

a plump snowflake

that flutters on down one gray afternoon

to land gently on the tip of my nose.

So when I think of the world beyond

and of the unimaginable spiritual joys that will come to replace

these simple and perfect earthly pleasures,

when I contemplate the days when my body will be returned to the earth,

and when those that knew me and loved me will gather

in heartfelt celebration of the life I built and the lives I touched,

and when their pangs of grief turn to fond remembrances

and then to vague memories

and then to nothing at all,

I can rest content in knowing that

one day,

somewhere down on the earth I loved so dearly,

that same little drop of water

that kissed my nose so sweetly

will drift down from a gray sky once again

to settle anew on the tip of someone else’s nose.

I can only hope that they, too,

will appreciate that magical snowflake

for all the wonderful lessons it may teach them.