We were all taking a big inhale when all of a sudden an unexpected train zoomed past us, and in its wake, as we exhaled, we saw that all of the snow had melted, and the land was revealed to be a desert. The change was abrupt and uncomfortable; we had difficulty adapting; and soon, we were dessicated: the substance of us—our children too, their substance being especially, visibly fluid—it all evaporated; we became all sorts of clouds in the sky. Each of us had to deal with this in our own way, of course, but after drifting in uncertainty, in strange, changing formations, for many years, it seems that we began reaching similar conclusions, and it began to rain. Finally, we were gentle, and we could give ourselves back. If the snow returns, I will not know.