The night has fallen deep and still as I sit aboard the boat, wrapped in fluffy blankets with a mug of warm tea nestled in my hands. Outside, I watch as silent snowflakes are piling up on the deck and around the portlights in tuffs as soft as downy feathers. The flakes wrap themselves around the winches and the portholes, softening every shape in a shadowy white pile. In its white wetness, the snow even drapes itself, hanging from the stays and the mast fittings.

close up image of snowflakes on black background

Turning my gaze out to the water, I watch as the snow touches down to become zero, disappearing without a trace. The tiny plop of the individual flake makes a teeny dimple of a pinprick and then is gone, leaving ripples which make a circle barely the size of a dinner plate before they become imperceptible to my eyes. The gentle plip of each snowflake splash is undetectable, except perhaps by a passing fish below who notices the dappling of her skyworld. The creatures of the sea and the earth experience this magnificent snow fall in entirely un-alike fashion. An entirely dissimilar view for me and the fish.

Me with my warm tea looking out into the dark waters and the fish experiencing her rustling sky reflecting the light like some far-away disco ball—the same drops of snow, individually perceived. 

And as I consider this on this darkest eve of the Winter Solstice, I become one with the fish swimming below the boat, the frozen flakes falling from the heavens, and the magical interface of the water worlds.

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