Viraj Shankar

January 8th, 2005: Nestled behind two thick maple trees, both radiating with sunken, yet somehow towering branches, stood a perfectly proportioned craftsman house. Its navy blue hue stood out amongst the darkening clouds. The tall, coarse bark snaked its way down from the tree’s peak to its base, where it encountered an expansive stretch of chilled concrete. A contiguous surface, the marbled concrete flowed like a river at its calmest hour. The steep gradient of the hill, where the driveway met the road, made the perfect duo for a disaster waiting to happen. Then, a snowflake, effervescent in nature, raced to the street, and congealed upon contact.