It formed from ice crystals joined together high in the frosty atmosphere, until it became heavy enough to leave the cloud which was its home, drifting slowly, unhurriedly, toward the city below.
The city folk were rushing between places, cursing under their breaths about the cold and the slush and the wetness.
Perched on the steps of a church, a homeless man sat still, appreciating the first snowfall of the winter, perfectly warm and comfortable, oblivious to the unhappy people in the streets. Deep in his hood there was a peaceful smile.
He looked to the sky, letting the snowflakes melt on his face. Having nowhere to be, he watched the whiteness wisp between the buildings, coming to rest on the grass and the spiked fence and the headstones and the pigeons, fluffed up and huddled together, for once taking a break from their usually incessant begging.
The snowflake drifted and drifted, back and forth, at the mercy of the wind, nearing the office buildings and the homeless man. It floated onto the tip of a leafless maple branch where it hesitated for a moment, then easily slipped off, down toward the graveyard and the church.
The homeless man held out his old mitten on a whim and the snowflake landed in his palm. Lifting the snowflake to his bearded face, he was amazed at its beauty and complex symmetry. Within that amazement at what his world had produced for him, the man found a deep satisfaction. It was a real happiness that none of the busy city folk had ever known.
They continued to hurry past, stealing sideways glances at the worthless homeless man they were sure was insane and inferior.
The snowflake melted, but lived on in the man’s mind until he drew his last breath, when he became the earth again, and everything was the same as it ever was.