"Tell me, what
does a snowflake weigh?" said the song thrush to the pigeon.
"Next to nothing,"
was the reply.
"In that case, I have
a wondrous story to tell you," said the song thrush. "I was sitting
on the branch of a fir tree one day, quite close to the trunk, when it began to
snow. It didn't fall violently like in a wild storm, no... but rather as in a
dream, soundlessly and weightlessly. Since I had nothing better to do, I counted
the snowflakes which came to rest on the twigs and needles of my branch. There
were exactly 3,741,952 of them. When the three million, seven hundred and forty
one thousand, nine hundred and fifty third flake fell — as you say, a mere
nothing — the branch broke." And so saying, she flew off.
The pigeon, a specialist
in such questions since way back when Noah built his ark, reflected
briefly, and then said to herself, "Perhaps it would only take
a single extra person's voice for there to be peace on earth."
[Excerpt
from Kurt Kauter's "Thus Spake the Marabou"]
