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? 

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.