One day, I might turn into an ice sculpture. awn breaks. To my surprise, I’m still alive. Overnight, snow has piled up, topped with a layer of icing that smooths out the rough edges and blankets the world in silence. I wonder if I could invent new words for snow to describe the many iterations of a snowflake in all its splendour, like the Inuit have. There’s: Qanik, for falling snow Aputi, for snow on the ground Pukak, for […]
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