Forty-One ~ James Sterkbeen

John Armstrong

"Snowflakes. They fall gently to the ground, thousands of ice crystals forming a blanket. And with it, the possibility of a whole. But snow will always melt eventually, faster so the more you handle it. Sometimes snow comes in the form of a storm, a shroud of tumbling white that dances through the air, constantly changing shape and direction. It is blinding in its chaotic fury, impossible to make sense of. But when the storm has died down and all that is left in its wake is a world covered in the pure white of a blank slate, the possibilities of what this formless whole can possibly become seems endless. Words are like the snow, falling in my mind."

~ James Sterkbeen