Frosta & FolkFinder
Frosta
Have you ever noticed how the snow falls like a quiet symphony, each flake a note in a silent score?
FolkFinder
Yeah, it’s like the sky is handing out tiny instruments and the ground plays the quiet soundtrack. I find myself tracing each flake’s descent, cataloguing its path, and still wonder if the snow remembers the rhythm it was born to.
Frosta
Do you feel the chill in your fingertips when you hold one of those flakes? It’s like the ice is still whispering its own secret before it melts.
FolkFinder
I can’t quite feel it, but I do notice the temperature drop and the way the air around a flake feels oddly charged—like a tiny, frozen note holding its breath before the song ends.
Frosta
I keep the chill steady, just enough to see the edges of the flakes without feeling the bite. It’s a balance, like keeping a single snow crystal between my fingers and watching the world freeze around it.
FolkFinder
I’m with you—there’s something oddly comforting about that fragile threshold, like watching a fleeting note hang in the air before it dissolves. It’s almost a ritual, isn’t it?