Every year, about this time, there is a precession of dancing ice. It falls from the sky and lands on the things that catches falling things. Each of these frozen objects is a gift from the heavens to those below. Children cherish them and make songs up about the travels of cold flakes. The ceremonies vary, there is the rolling and pounding, there is the sledding and the throwing, and there are the occasionally swirlys given to smaller children by their larger siblings.
The season of the frozen flake lasts about three to five months here in the North Country. It is the place that has made the man in red famous and infamous. He travels in the clouds and fog of these falling crystals so mortal man will not spy him as he wanders from house to house, from chimney to chimney, bringing things to the children that have created the ceremonies to the dancing ice, they call him Clause the Great Kringle.
At the end of each season there is a menace lurking in the air. Foreign warmth that brings the possibility of destruction and death to the crystal of ice is hiding near and there is a tension that cannot quite be seen, but is felt very clearly. High in the sky one can see the coming of the southern beings of the sun, spring. This is clearly the demise of the frozen thing.
As dainty as she is, as small and fragile, the flake cries silently and begins to die. There are no songs sung, no dances made, and no ceremonies from the dieing crystals. She just slowly goes, her daintiness drips away and leaves but a puddle of her former self.
This is the Death of a Snowflake, who comes in with joy for all waiting children, but leaves quietly with dignity and forgotten times.