A Conversation With The Vast Whiteness

I’m not new to snow. But I am new to living where it snows right outside your doorstep, and where one is stuck with snow for around 5 months a year. And like anyone who is new to anything, like a child, I spent time watching and being mesmerized by it.

So here are a few of the many conversations that I had with this Vast Whiteness. We met just outside my door this morning and went for a walk.


“The snowflake is water solidifying into structure,” said the Whiteness as I tried to catch some flakes floating down from the heavens.  “The universe is making patterns at the smallest scale. Nature creating micro-art.”

The flakes landed on my jacket, and as I brought my eyes closer to observe, the Vast Whiteness said, “Just because the snowflake is small and trivial doesn’t mean it should not deserve attention from the universe!” I nodded in agreement, still scrutinizing the flakes on my sleeve and pondering my own triviality.

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I was like the wind



in fury

I molded oceans into waves

silently rolled them

onto mountains

until   mountains              broke                                    down

I scurried

through flowers

hurried through

meadows;    wordlessly

carried clouds

birds                      seeds

to where they’re needed


or loved



at the peak of my frustration

I found you


you were like a tree





and while you could not educate

or control me

you stood there and watched me fail

to mold   roll   or    carry you

to push you down


you stood


as I threw tantrum

after tantrum

until my rage was worn out and tired

until I understood

that I must




that my strength

does not

match your frailty

that it’s only when I run my fingers



against your lips

only when I brush your hair gently

that you will open your palms

and give me back

my true voice

life sentence

Tonight they will make us walk


through the halls of this feeble language

until we are tired, cold

and disgraced


They will order us

to stop

They will blindfold us

first you, then me

and place us in front of the firing squad

As they gaze with contempt at our eloquence


And while we stand in front of those lifeless letters

As they take their aim

As they judge us

Our fervent hands will meet

fingers will grip each other

     crushing the silence

between our palms


We are partners in crime


You will turn to me, smiling

(I will imagine your smile)

with your mischievous eyes

(I will see them despite our blindfolds)

like you always do

when you have a plan.


“I know of a place,”

you will whisper,

“not far from here

where we can hide and read the night

Where no one will discover us

while we write, erase

and rewrite

our words


until we find

that perfect sentence


And there we can spend forever

whispering it to each other

until we are innocent