Everything can change in a year, one falling of the snow.
You can lose yourself while finding your home, though shrouded in purple and bruise-black thunderclouds, after the passage of hundreds of miles.
You can see something for the first time, despite seeing it a thousand times before.
You can look in the mirror and find a stranger.
I imagine that’s how Maj. George Catlin Snow would feel today were he to gaze upon his beloved “Rockland Home” tucked away in the southeastern corner of Neosho Falls.
—The moment being akin to staring into the eyes of something alien, though nonetheless intensely alive.