The world is a storm of water.
Shaped, living, breathing
Churning and spinning in inconceivable mass.
Hanging in the air like so many birds.

Our lives are a waterfall.
In constant motion, unstoppable.
The constant noise, untameable.
Kinetic and raw and eternally scrolling through earth and air.

And then the ice comes
Crystals spread outward, given life by time’s forgiveness.
Changing the smallest of things, in the largest of numbers.
Our storm, our kinetic ride slows, stuck in a sheath of winter.
A glorious call to slow, halt, let time flow no more, be it days or hours.
And yet we look out across the stilled storm
And can thing only of the next drop of rain.