Ah, Prometheus

I walked out of the house this morning and, loaded on the roof and hood of my car, were bulbous blobs of white hail. I squinted at the clear blue sky and thought,

This place is weird.

Now, hours later, glinting white flakes of snow are lilting from the sky, drifting down from blue clouds and into my hair. 

They're the really cold kind of flakes that stick to your skin in star-form before shimmering into damp teardrops. 

Maybe snowflakes are stars that fall in love with humans, forsaking their immortality to spend a breath in the palm of man.

Ah, Prometheus.