Snow.

There is something about the vertigo I feel when it is night and I am looking up at the sky and it is full of falling snowflakes, falling down on me. It looks so much like I am being flung through a phalanx of stars, a streaking source of light so unreal and unrelated to my ordinary existence that I try not to blink. I don’t want it to go away, even though the flakes land on and in my eyes and they are watering and a little voice inside my head is telling me in a wee small voice that they will freeze and I will have to go to the hospital. Then the other little voice tells that little voice to shut up (the other little voice uses those words a lot. We’re working on that), that there is too much salt in my tears (I wrote eye-water. There has got to be another word for this liquid than tears, tears is too emotionally laden), and I reach up and lo, the liquid is sticky, the dry mountain air has already begun to evaporate the water, and the other little voice (you have multiple, right?) gives a nyah-nyah thumb to the nose (metaphorically) to the first and says see, it’s like antifreeze.

And the whole time this is happening, I’m flying through space.

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