Perspective.

It's beautiful. The way rain turns into snow, the way sadness can become a sight of pure beauty and joy. The way you can watch it fall until it's five a.m. and long past your bedtime and yet still be mesmerized. Each falling flake has some silent way of speaking to you, and it speaks so softly that you don't recognize it at first. But, as they keep falling, they keep speaking, and in unison they have a magical way of getting their point across. You can sit and watch snow fall and have revelations and epiphanies until you think your mind will explode from all the new found knowledge you've gained, and whether or not you remember it all in the morning is irrelevant. You just know that in this moment you have become something else, some oracle of knowledge to dispense to yourself, and even if it doesn't all get through, it's powerful in its own right. It makes you reflect on the past, and things and memories that might make you cry- they will most definitely make you cry of you're willing to give in, and it always helps heal whatever wounds are still burning- but that's the beauty of it. It makes you evaluate the present, asks you if you're really doing what you should with your time, if you're making the right choices- sometimes you are, sometimes you aren't. It makes you rethink your future- if where you're headed is where you want to go, if where you're headed is even where you thought you were going- because sometimes things can get a little mixed up along the way. But it's okay. That's why we have winters, for snow. For snow to bring us happiness and tears, together.