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My daughter and I watched the snow fall. It had been falling all morning, silently, and had lain thick.
“By now,” Maddie said, “there are probably as many snowflakes out there are there are years until the end of the univese.”
And, just like that, she reminded me of a story.
The story nestles within the notebooks of Leonardo Da Vinci, alongside the crazy helicopter sketches and whole pages of mirror-writing. So, from the pages of Da Vinci’s notebook, elaborated by the fancy of a woman from Middle England, here is a story for the dawn of a year.
Let me take you to Everest.
Indeed, to its highest point, where man has strived to climb, down on which the tourists crane their necks from chartered planes, and untouched desolate paradise.
And home to snowflakes.
Up there, at the farthest reach of man’s frail grasp, millions upon millions of snowflakes, each a microscopic miracle, congregate. And on the edge of the peak sat one such flake, looking down in awe and wonder at the scene before it.
And in this great place of beauty, the snowflake felt utterly insignificant.
For a while, as he surveyed the great glaciers which cover the base of the mountain, he marvelled. What would it be like, he thought, to be a powerful glacier, announcing to climbers that they had arrived at this king of all mountains?
On a nearby part of the mountain a great snow plume – an airborne snow stream – rose up and stretched off into the distance for miles and miles, a huge ethereal snow-ghost which seemed to have a lofty purpose as it moved about the mountain. Now there is beauty and mystery, thought the little snowflake. To be some great snow-serpent at the whim of a jet stream, to attract the attention of astronauts: that is something else.
And then his attention came to rest down below in the great ice Valley of Silence. Without a whisper of wind the heat there is overpowering to those who travel through.To be such a paradox in one of the coldest and least hospitable places on earth! Now that was originality at its best!
And as he marvelled, the tiny snowflake thought: well, why am I here at the top? These other great beings will think me incredibly vain, for I am insignificant and yet here, I have the highest point of all.
And so he threw himself off, in a bid to find a place more suitable to his tiny status.
And the snowflake tumbled down, and collected others.
And as he rolled he became very large indeed, so that by the time he reached the lower reaches of the mountain he was the size of a hill, and became an avalanche.
So that when he had settled, he was beneath a great formation of snow. He guaranteed himself long life: and that Spring he was the very last snowflake to melt.
“This is said,” writes Da Vinci, “for those who, humbling themselves, become exalted.” For me: it is a fanfare in ice for the tiniest of us. We have a purpose. And a destiny.
And it can change, irrevocably, in the blink of an eye.
Kate Shrewsday 
What a beautiful story! (I’m a sucker for mountains and snowflakes and Da Vinci.)
It’s a winning combination, PT.
Very interesting and suitable for my day today 🙂 Thanks for this Kate.
Pleasure, Jas. It is helping my day too!
There is something so ethereal and magical about snow, yet it can also cause so many problems. Beauty and the beast all rolled into one. I’ve never heard this particular snow story before but it’s certainly thought provoking. Thank you for sharing it.
Thank you for reading. You’re right: snow is something of a paradox. It fits right in with the rest of nature.
You know it’s the kind of story my sci-fi head sees Leonardo sharing with a Time Lord…. or perhaps the other way round LOL
I’m sure the Time Lord could use a little Da Vinci wisdom 😀
Purpose and destiny, we can make our own and do good while doing it.
Indeed, Lou. All it needs is to hurl oneself off that proberbial mountain.
Great tale Kate. 🙂
Are you up to something?
Not what I would like to be up to, Fiona. But a small change, yes.
In this vast universe, we are the ones who are insignicant. But, like that tiny snowflake, we also can accomplish something big. Thanks for the great story, Kate.
Pleasure, Judy. The story gives me a little hope.
As Mother Teresa recognized: “In this life we cannot do great things. We can only do small things with great love.”
A bucket is filled drop by drop.
And an avalanche is created flake by flake.
Thanks, Kate!
Beautiful thoughts, Nancy, thank you. Drop by drop needs patience, doesn’t it? Not something I have in great supply. Still, I suppose time measures everything out , rationing events bit by bit.
a lovely story, Kate – I used to mirror-write a lot, somehow seemed natural, me being lefthanded and all…
Maddie mirror wrote for a while, too, Ruth. I love to see Da Vinci’s notebooks: he seemed to glory in writing both ways, forwards and backwards…
“. . . few of us who live seemingly insignificant lives realize the significant roles we play in the journeys of those around us.” http://needinc.org/2011/05/05/insignificant-significance/ This post of yours led me here, Kate, to a reminder that insignificance is generally self-imposed. Thanks.
Thank you. We all need to be reminded that the risks we take, however they turn out, are not in vain.
A sweet story.
Your daughter is a deep thinker.
That it can, Kate. Hope all OK with you.
Thank you, dear Kate. This was a wonderful read (and I’m still longing for snow here on the Cutoff).
Ah! A very pleasant lesson in humility. 🙂
Um … ah … I’m not all that sure I want to fling myself from a tall mountain. I think I’ll just stay uppity! 🙂
Not so nice after knowing about the 4 people killed in SCotland recently in an avalanche!! ;-(
A beautiful story Kate. But I am wondering why he needed to jump at all when he could have lived forever up there on his (icier) perch, with that gorgeous view to boot? I guess I belong to the ‘don’t disturb the snow and start an avalanche’ group 😀
“changing destiny” new twisted hyperbolic oxymoron.