It looks like a thousand or more small white bugs are flying around outside the windows here in this small cabin.

In fact it is snow flakes being pushed around by the cold, cold wind. They never seem to land anywhere, but i know they'll eventually land and blend in with the white snow carpet beneath them. It is then forever lost to my eye and I concentrate on the new slowly falling snowflakes, and the story repeats it self until I realize I bloody have to stop staring at freaking snowflakes! but hours could go by with this wonderful waste of time, like watching the waves roll in...

To blend in is invisibility. The flying part is being seen, noticed, being something else than what we are.To land is to lay still, to be immobile, and the flying part is like being able to do anything you'll ever want.

It's called a metaphor, that's all it really is. But I think people seldom realize we all land at some point. Some have a few glorious seconds longer than others in the air, but eventually, we all land, blend in and start melting. Most of us seldom think about that time's running out. Running out eventually. 

It's a metaphor because taking about death is a taboo. And it's a metaphor like a photograph is a metaphor. 

In all these photos the snowbugs resemble a memento mori. like a memento mori, they keep hanging over our heads, reminding us what's important in life before we land...


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