I talked to a tree just the other day, I was walking past and it did say

Well, what are you?

Just a traveler.

But what are you?

Why, a human of course, you didn’t know?

I’ve never seen one before.

She used to listen to the snow and think about how beautiful the world was, how magical.

How perfect, pristine, like a flower curled in a tiny fist.

Snow does something magical, I think; 

Creating a blank skate, can I start over now? 

It fuels first loves, the paths criss-crossing in a storm, a blizzard that lingers in the memories.