It's a subtle feeling spreading through the inhale of cold autumn air.
The placid falling of snow doesn't know of human drama.
Of longing or of desire. It falls all the same.
It doesn't care if it is beheld or cherished. It falls to melt away.
As the dark encompasses the city people hurry through the streets to return to the warmth of their homes.
The cold scares them away from the streets. Beckoning them away. Home into their couches, into their computer chairs.
Cherishing produced dreams of an exciting life.
Imagining themselves as part of what they choose to see.
The cold dislikes no one.
It's a shard reflecting parts of ourselves. Open to he who wishes to see.