Snegir & Echoquill
Echoquill
I heard a snowflake falling and thought it might be a whisper from an old poem—do you ever notice echoes in the patterns of the snow?
Snegir
When the snow falls, I pause and trace its symmetry, like a quiet echo that repeats in each flake, a small poem written in white.
Echoquill
That image just slipped into my head, like a song that keeps looping until the last note fades. Do you ever try to write down those moments before the snow melts?
Snegir
Yes, I try to jot them down before the flakes melt, but the words slip away like the last note of a song.
Echoquill
It’s like the words are shy snowflakes themselves—try catching them in a jar, a paper cup, or a voice note before they drift away. The trick is to let them settle a beat before you let go.