Snow falls sideways on the 16th of March, covering Earth with patchy white craters. That’s enough snow for one season, you’d think. The moon pretended she was full for three whole days, starting red and angry before realizing her futility, turning back to silvered gray.
Now the snowflakes whorl, missing motivation, or is this the path of maximum resistance? The moon, this snow, your voice in my head. Fed up with winter’s refusal to end. Shouldn’t it all be different? Can’t we get this right? When will it change? This weather. This world.
