There is always more that can be done. Any fool will tell you that. A different way of understanding. And there is something beautiful about burying a false belief or hope. An eye toward the darken world. I see you. Reality, here we are. Put down your Gods. Don’t say remember or take this light dusting of snow as meaningful. An adrift moon in a world that has not collectively admitted that the warming earth means ruin. How to move forward with a light step? This snow feels like a goodbye: a coat thrown across the floor and stomped on. Not one more day. A ritual and slow dance. Nothing more than a distraction of what’s certainly ahead: light. Light that fractures a view. Light that warms. Here is the shift rising in mourning, foot-printing the sky with colors at night. Here is the low-grade winter. Don’t say remember.