I never knew, before my Chemistry classes, that when the snow turns immediately to fog the reaction is referred to as “subliming.” Solid to vapor, forgoing the liquid state. But it seems so poetically perfect, and I relish it. I’ve always enjoyed the snow so determined to leave that ascends instead of descending; loved the dramatic clouds rising to shroud the black of the bark against the white of the snow. Now when I see it, I also think, “sublime,” and smile.

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