Is it not amazing how drastically appearances can change from one day to the next? Snow flurries have made their appearance for the first time in a while, sinking into all of Durham. From one minute to the next they are coming down with intent before slowing to a soft stream, before repeating the cycle. They are coming down at a slight angle, as if to show off their best side for my admiration; not sticking to the ground, but nevertheless being a glorious and real snowfall. It is so close and real to my chair and radiator that I can hear their whispers and translucent touch as if they were floating through the indestructible glass that is my window and onto my pages. I can touch it, taste it, feel it. What pure magic. The more it drifts down into this lower realm the more it picks up and swirls into an inexplicable blur. Just as the evening sky, some flakes are more prominent than other diminutive ones. The wind whips each individual flake straight into the barrier of my paned window before disappearing as quietly as they appeared. The regal walls of the inner courtyard seem to act as a sort of belvedere; trapping the falling snow in the open sided horseshoe for all to delight in. It is slow-motion and the epitome of all that is grace and beauty.
The wind picks up and the snow which was at one point destined for the ground takes a sharp ninety-degree turn to the left. At one time beginning to stick, the atmosphere is now erasing all traces of life on the harsh bed. All within the span of a minute there was evidence and then there was nothing.
This cycle of dizzying activity to the cessation of all movement is symbolic of what humanity encounters every day. Is it not true that every one of us continually exemplifies this very revolution; we work and stop, read and stop, write and stop, talk and stop. Do less, do more – and repeat.
We pride ourselves and our species on being complex creatures capable of complex activities and thoughts. No doubt we are such, and recognising our unique talents is warranted, but is there not a common underlying and fundamental feature we share with snow? For we too drift. We too share this pattern of being and nothingness.