As if by stealth, snowflakes fall from the sky. There are so few, you might almost imagine they were shy or tiptoeing or uncertain of their way when there are no others to support their course.
I blink my eyes. Perhaps what I am seeing in ones and twos is nothing more than small pieces of litter blowing down the street. Or perhaps there is something in my eye creating what is not snow at all. I have to focus and pay attention before I am content to say, "It's snow."
Somehow I want to console these lonely arbiters of winter. "Don't worry. Your friends will be along shortly."