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The snow falls, cold, whispering to the ground. Flake upon crystalline flake, drifting, piling, sticking.
The wind blows, scattering the flakes, sending them off to new places and adventures. The flakes never know to where they go, only where they’ve been. Their passing presence makes a difference, unseen, unappreciated, but definite, like the currents under the placid lake.

Each of us is a snowflake.