Once, in a land where the earth was rich and ruddy, there lived a crow named Cormac. Unlike other crows who were content with the simplicity of their lives, Cormac often dreamt of things beyond his reach. He would look to the skies where snowflakes danced on the wind, delicate and pure, each one a tiny crystal, gleaming with blue-white jewels. To him, they were symbols of all that was noble and peaceful—qualities he longed for but felt were beyond him.

"I wish I could be like those snowflakes," Cormac often thought. "They fall with such grace, so pure and serene, untouched by the harsh world beneath them. Perhaps then, I would know peace."

For many days, Cormac flew through the skies, chasing the snowflakes wherever they appeared, hoping to understand their secret. He saw in them a quiet strength, the embodiment of dignity and calm. They were perfect in their fragility, unbent by the winds, untouched by the passing seasons. In them, he saw what he could never have: a kind of purity that seemed immune to the world’s struggles.

One cold winter morning, Cormac perched upon a low branch and watched as a flake drifted slowly down from the clouds, spinning gracefully in the wind. He saw it shimmer in the pale sunlight and thought, "That... that is what I could be—pure, calm, unaffected by the world below."

Just then, a gust of wind shook the branch, and the flake was swept away, dissolving into the air before it reached the ground. Cormac blinked in surprise, then, with a mix of awe and sadness, he saw the snowflake vanish entirely, leaving no trace.

"What happened?" he muttered. "It was so beautiful, so perfect. How could it just disappear like that?"

The wind whispered in the trees, and Cormac felt a presence behind him. Turning, he saw an old raven, wise and weathered by time, sitting on a nearby branch. The raven had watched Cormac’s longing with quiet amusement.

"Ah, young crow," the raven said in a voice as deep and rich as the earth itself, "you seek what is fleeting. Snowflakes are like dreams, beautiful but temporary. You long to be like them, but you do not see the truth in their fragility."

Cormac tilted his head. "But they are perfect," he protested. "They fall without flaw, gentle and pure. I wish to be like them, unaffected by the world’s harshness, untouched by time."

The raven chuckled softly. "Perfection is not what you think. True strength comes not from fragility, but from the ability to endure. The snowflake’s beauty lies in its briefness, yes, but it is not the snowflake that survives the storm. It is the earth beneath it, steadfast and enduring. You, young crow, must learn to stand firm like the earth, not to dream of what can never last."

Cormac stared at the raven, confused. "But how can I stand firm? I am just a crow—plain and dark, not like the snowflakes or the earth beneath them. What strength could I have?"

The raven’s eyes gleamed, sharp and knowing. "Strength does not come from looking like something else, Cormac. It comes from being true to what you are. The snowflake is pure, yes, but it is also fragile. The earth is strong because it embraces its roughness, its seasons of hardship, and its ability to change."

Cormac thought for a moment. "So, I must accept that I am not a snowflake," he said slowly, "and that I cannot be like one."

"Exactly," the raven replied. "You are a crow. You do not need to be something you are not. You have your own strengths—strengths that are born of survival, resilience, and adaptability. It is not about avoiding the harshness of life, but facing it with courage. Your wings, your voice, your very being—these are what will carry you through storms, not the fleeting beauty of something that will soon vanish."

Cormac’s heart stirred. He looked around at the familiar landscape—the tawny earth, the twisted branches, and the deep shadows of the forest. It was true. He had spent so much time longing for something he could never be, that he had forgotten the strength he already possessed.

"I understand now," Cormac said, feeling wiser. "I am not meant to be like the snowflakes. I am meant to stand strong, to endure, and to be myself."

The raven smiled, a knowing smile. "That is the wisdom you need. When you embrace what you are, rather than what you wish to be, you will find the strength that lies within you."

And so, Cormac flew off, no longer dreaming of snowflakes, but of the world he knew—his earth, his skies, his trees. He embraced the challenges before him, his wings cutting through the wind, his voice echoing across the forest. The storms would come, and the cold would return, but he would endure.

For, in time, Cormac learned that it was not the snowflakes who were truly strong, but the ones who, like him, could face the storm with courage, resilience, and a heart that embraced its own truth.

And from that day forward, the crow no longer wished for the fleeting beauty of the snow, but for the enduring strength of the land that could hold it all.