I've always been moved by the end of James Joyce's "The Dead":
It lay thickly drifted on the crooked crosses and headstones, on the spears of the little gate, on the barren thorns. His soul swooned slowly as he heard the snow falling faintly through the universe and faintly falling, like the descent of their last end, upon all the living and the dead.
These snowflakes swirling and indiscriminately falling from the sky to land "upon all the living and the dead" often inhabit my mind. I envision these flakes to be the souls of beloved friends and family members that are no longer with me. Perhaps their very essence is intricately designed in each snowflake - swooning souls... whirling freely and as they mesh and blend in communion.
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