Confession of a snowflake

Odd weather in which to talk about snowflakes, I know. But a recent comment by an MP suggesting that those of us who simply want to slow down during this Siroccan weather are snowflakes left me seething. When I cooled down, I pondered: wherein lies the insult? Did said MP actually intend his likening of us to these beautiful, magical flakes as a compliment? Because the more I think about it, the more I liken a collection of snowflakes to the human race. On the surface, a ball of snow is just a ball of snow. Looked at under a microscope, the snowball is a collection of beautiful and precise crystals, each one as unique as a fingerprint. On its own, a snowflake melts in a heartbeat. Collectively, snowflakes form a carpet on the earth’s surface, modifying global warming, providing a facility for snow sports and inspiring creative works, from Old Master paintings to Christmas cards and songs. What snowflakes don’t do is fly the flag for rugged individualism: perhaps this is what our politician friend is missing?