The last snow of the year falls on exposed grass. The flakes are lush like rose petals falling in an ancient stadium, on a parade of kings. The white flowers rest in the laurel crowns of noble men and women. The ground quickly becomes covered by the frozen manna. I perceive your hand shaking the snow globe, the breath of your mouth driving the confetti. And the downpour rests as suddenly as it quickened. Icing sugar on a gingerbread landscape.
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