from your fireside perch, you aren’t so sure.
the cold is wet and carried by a knife-wielding wind.
but her smile is sweet, and you think you divine a glimpse of hindsight in the crystal snow.
at the bottom, you lose all resistance to joy.
sprinting towards the next dip, you trip into sandpits filled with snow.
she mirrors your moves, and betters your form.
your home-sweet-home snow globe would look something like this,
and when shaken would prove you’ve still got mad ups.