toa267

Years have passed, and the dust collects. Ancient tombs dug and plundered. Modern treasures shaved on their edges. Surgeries and recoveries. Dreams invented, pondered, and forgotten. Aspirations buried by the shifting sands in the desert of ambition. No one to blame but myself. Life goes on, but not do we. How we fail it is no mystery. One by one, we waste our days. We find a thousand different ways.

No snowflake believes itself to blame for the avalanche. The entire blanket blames the mountain, explains its slide in terms of gravity and destiny. Not a single crystal of cold-hearted water dare ask what meaning hides in the rumbling chant. But the snowflakes might be right. The mountain was pushed up, providing the shelf and framing the options faced by the storm. Geology works slow, hidden underground, minding the tides of time, planning the long game of hard-chiseled stone against the search for hydrostatic equilibrium. Regardless of what forces are brought to answer this call to blame: Did you ask the grass for consent?

I didn't want to collect Monster High G3, but before I knew it, I had five Frankies. Sigh.