If I were a snowflake
object narrative: from the perspective of a snowflake
I feel myself dropping,
The temperature seems right,
Five degrees Fahrenheit,
In the middle of the night.
As I continued to fall,
I feel my arms grow,
One, two, three, four,
Five, and six of them all.
Still far away from the ground,
Atmosphere keeps changing,
With it my arms extend,
Then get shorter again.
No matter how they morph,
Sextuplets all arms appear,
Identical in every way,
Magical like tiny spears.
With all of them formed,
Like wings outstretched,
Mid-air I slowed down,
Graceful glide I come.
Landing ever so softly,
On a field of pillowy white,
Although you might not find me,
Promise, none of us are alike.
writing it-narratives is very new for me and i am enjoying it. i hope you do too.
Jen, loving your words. 🥰 I especially liked these:
“Like wings outstretched,
Mid-air I slowed down,
Graceful glide I come.”
“Although you might not find me,
Promise, none of us are alike.”
Beautifully written, I felt like a snowflake ❄️