I saw snow falling in large, light flakes, blanketing the grass. It was late evening, with the distant sun barely an ember of orange within the deep gray backdrop of sky.
The snowflakes grew into each other upon hitting the ground, as though they were fast-growing yeast or sinew. Each flake carried a story and reflected, as a mirror, the environment surrounding it.
The flakes poured from the sky, which was a nexus – a wormhole of sorts – between multiple realms or realities. The story carried by each flake was a history, or a tale, or simply a thing of beauty, from its realm. Some of the flakes carried their realm’s entire history. Were the flakes creating a new realm or universe as they fell and melted into one another?
Each flake appeared to be alive, sentient, and conscious.
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