The wind carries it's knives hidden in the folded spaces of a mathematician's 9-dimensional dream. Meticulously it uses them to carve endlessly exquisite crystals from the great ice realms of the sky; beautiful and unique they inevitably fall. Snow, like the rest of the world, is an illusion, but this is irrelevant. The important thing is to cut the right wire when defusing the time-bomb of inherited misperceptions before the imploding mass of our own ignorance robs us forever of any true sense of its ethereal beauty.