Snowflakes

It had begun to snow a little bit by the time we stopped for gas in the town of Asbestos, on the way home from the Carnival. Swirling snow that slips lightly through the air, never seeming to accumulate on the road or landscape.

Yes the town is named for its abundance of the carcinogenic mineral, and we had to admit, it wasn't much to speak of: the canopy over the gas pumps, the small convenience store with the single stall bathroom which I called toilee instead of toilette, and the restaurant which adjoined the convenience store and looked as though it hadn't received diners for over a decade. . . these seemed to comprise the entirety of the town. We were surprised it was even on the map, but apparently even a gas station is a big deal in this part of the country.

As my friends stretched their cramped muscles or purchased Pringles chips, I attempted to take photographs of the snowflakes as they landed delicately on the windshield of the car. They were so beautiful, hovering for only one brief moment, perfectly six-pointed, outlined through the glass against the dark interior of the car, before shrinking to tiny drops of water. Not even enough time to point the camera at the right spot. So I just watched them appear, unassumingly, and then swiftly, silently fade.

One by one.

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This post is part of the Blue-Beta Blog Coordination, a continuing series of content coordinated by theme or motif with posts from Confuzzled of I Keep Wondering, Gromit of The Dancing Newt, Redoubt of Redoubt Redux, Third Mango of Funkadelic Freestylings of Another Sort, Yarjka of Sour Mayonnaise, and Xanthippe of Let’s Save Our Hallmark Moment. This week's theme: 'snowflakes'.