|Christmas decoration from Joan in 2009.|
What is your favourite ‘snowflakes’ moment in literature? Tell me.
London. Michaelmas term lately over, and the Lord Chancellor sitting in Lincoln’s Inn Hall. Implacable November weather. As much mud in the streets as if the waters had but newly retired from the face of the earth, and it would not be wonderful to meet a Megalosaurus, forty feet long or so, waddling like an elephantine lizard up Holborn Hill. Smoke lowering down from chimney-pots, making a soft black drizzle, with flakes of soot in it as big as full-grown snowflakes—gone into mourning, one might imagine, for the death of the sun. –from Charles Dickens’s Bleak House.
Also see Mary A. Spytz’s beautiful handcrafted snowflakes at Fractal Snowflakes.
Every time you grab at love you will lose a snowflake of your memory.
-from Leonard Cohen’s “The Story Thus Far”
Interestingly, one day after I wrote the above, I saw this: