the park

Just then it begins to snow.

But as we both look around and up into the sky we realize it isn’t snow that’s falling. At first it looks like bits of paper and I think its something from a factory nearby. Whatever it is it blows around with the lucky leaves for a while, until the wind calms down, tempered. You catch a piece and look at me.

"It’s a word," you say with a kind of delighted disbelief.

"What do you mean?" I say, looking at all the words falling from the sky.

"It’s snowing words,” you say, and you start laughing uncontrollably. I haven’t heard that laugh before. And you start trying to catch what you can. Your laughter reminds me of a room full of summer. We both run around catching words, and I’m throwing handfuls of words at you, and you are laughing and saying,

"That’s just typical of me throwing words around like they don’t mean anything."

I say I’m looking for the word ‘snowball’, “it’s like trying to find a snowball in a haystack” I say...

...where is it? It must be somewhere...

...You say, "I’m looking for the word, ‘beautiful’."

"And when I find it" you say," I’m not going to throw it away.. "

And we both snoop around, as the words fall everywhere with a tenderness as if they have no gravity, nothing to do with their meaning.

And slowly we stop looking.

There’s a realization that we are in the middle of a world full of words, and this doesn’t make sense. But we have to make sense of it all.