It’s a phenomenon that is hard to capture in words, or pictures for that matter. The advent of summer snow, the fluff that floats around the city which signals the transition from spring to summer.
Where will it settle, and who will see the exact wisp your eyes noticed just a moment ago? Will those seeds grow into trees, or will a cat try to catch them, playfully, as though they were butterflies, or perhaps someone will wish upon a tuft they caught accidentally, letting it go before it is weighed down?
The cotton-like tufts whirl around the streets and parks in a carefree, ephemeral dance before fading off into the distance, gone almost as quickly as they appear. Some of them hover for a while longer, lingering in the air hesitantly before moving on, like unsaid thoughts which, for one reason or another, never did materialise into words.
These pieces of light get caught up in cobwebs and in between blades of grass, creating kaleidoscopic flecks of rainbows as the evening sun sets, bringing forth cool layers of air that break up the warmth of the evening. As dusk sets in, the fluff starts to look like soft pieces of cloud which dropped from the sky.
There is something enduring about summer snow, as it feels more permanent than the icy winter snowflakes which melt as soon as they come into contact with one’s fingertips. It only disappears when the rain, which rarely visits now, washes it away.
Wandering Travelographer 