[audio http://188.8.131.52:4000/Hans.m4a ]
Snowflakes float gently from their heavenly home, making their way to the ground below in timid unease. How precious is their naïveté, upon which cynicism can lay not even a single tainting finger; how coveted is their innocence, from which purity and bliss flourish bountifully; how complete is their shoshin, so complete that even the tenderest of brushes would withdraw at the thought of marking their holy blank slate.
But their delicacy is only temporary, for their journey is interrupted by a chilled rush of morning air, infusing them with conviction, allowing them to spin, spiral, and pirouette with elegance, teasing and taunting one another with splendid choreography and brotherly jest. Sometimes they ebb and flow as one, shifting to the left or right in harmony. Other times are more intimate, like when two join in twirling sinusoid descent. But for whom is this dazzling dance performed?
O it has been many suns since any mortal set foot in this long-neglected expanse. There is hardly any vegetation, save for the few tired trees that dot the cold landscape in cernuous sadness. Perhaps it is the trees for which the snowflakes dance? Ah, ’tis indeed. And how sweet must the little snowflakes be! To try with earnest at mending the trees’ bruised hearts which have not pulsed with love or passion for decades…well, it certainly is an admirable, selfless thought.
Yes, as the snowflakes near the ground, a competition for the outstretched branches begins. This shelter is offered so willingly by the trees, yet it is they who have nothing to offer. The snowflakes have their vivacity, youth, and charm, but the trees have long ago conceded the glory of their bright blossoms and gorgeous summery leaves. Nothing but winter is ever seen here anymore. Nothing but the brilliant white blanket that smothers all life and hope deep underneath.
Cute and pleasant as they might be, it is none other than our lovely snowflakes that make up this suffocating white sheet, for it is those who are unfortunate enough to miss the helping branches that quickly join the previous failures on the ground, where they are destined to lie at rest for eternity.
Somberness. Merriment. A dichotomy known all too well by this land. Indeed, today’s world is in deep flux: the forever-battle of good and justice over war and evil wages on with frightening intensity, both in the heavens above and in the tangible below. Our story finds itself in the intersection of these two powerful forces. At a particular point in time where much excitement, and yes, much drama, will soon be born.
As if on cue, just over the horizon, a solitary black figure appears. And it is headed towards our very spot…