Solid

Individual wraiths, flimsy, filmy, wafty, but innumerable, incessant, layered and packed, these multitude spectres, individually next to nothing, are, en masse, overwhelming.

A door opens and it is there, a wall occupying all that is beyond, and if the door doesn't budge, it may be shoved in. If a car drives, it may wear it like a hat as big as itself perched atop. It grows roofs on roofs. When a way is cut through it, the looming canyon walls look down implacable. It lies on the human landscape like the 7-foot thick hand of a white Othello smothering.

Where did you come from, so light, so crushing? A bitter cold dry wind, a layer of saturated air hovering over a warm lake, piercing penetration, contact, flash crystallization, and the shepherding of myriad individual flakes into a special corner of western New York.

Under other circumstances, you'd be rain, falling and making your way back to where you evaporated from, and indeed that's where you'll eventually go, perhaps doing a different kind of damage on the way back. But for now you are the inescapable fact, a new entity interposing itself between earth and sky..

Over time you'll evolve. You'll drift, crust, granulate, compact. You'll daunt, not by your uncanniness, but by your sheer, obdurate bulk. You'll be thrown off of this, tunneled through to there, loaded and dumped, but remain an inescapability, maybe the first of many this season, until, earth tilting, the light has had enough of you and says, 'Begone.'

There was nothing, now conjured out of air, a solid presence. You're coming to my world. Best be ready.