In the winter of the boy's twelfth year the man put his hand on the boy's shoulder as he looked out the window at the snow. Out there winter's full fury was coming on. The boy said he knew the snow would melt in spring time because by the summer there would be no more snow but at this time he could not believe it, such was winter's triumph that year. The man said that snowflake by snowflake the snow builds up to a considerable mass but the slow coming-on of the summer sun was enough to melt it all quickly away. But the next year the snowflakes will be back. He avowed their perseverance. How beautiful they are, each one unique, and how gently they lay down among the other flakes. To await the coming moisture, then congregate in a stream nearby to someday have another try. But don't think that you'll ever be so lucky.