It was soft. Feathery. Temporary.
The journey began from cloud number nine.
Dangling. Floating. Flying. It came down royally.
A tiny white snow flake.

He was waiting on the ground.
Eyes wide open. Arms out stretched. Hugging the eternity.
Wrapped up in multi-layered clothes.
Muffler. Gloves. Snow-boots.
A child radiant with glowing smile. 

The flake was thick.
It landed delicately on the waiting palm.
The child looked at it with utmost delight.
Joys were exchanged.
The child closed the fist gently,
whispered something to it,
raised the arms and opened the fist, letting it go.
But there was nothing left on the warm palm.
The flake had served its purpose.
A beautiful memory had been etched.