One, two, perhaps three times you shake it, as though you were trying to make it wake up. The flakes fall clumsily, and lie down too soon. It is then that they begin to look after a snow globe restoration professional. It is a minor disappointment, though. These spheres are silent, but they contain silent moments, which are not willing to pass. A journey, a present, a day, which just became stuck. They are brought in with great care, as though it were something delicate and somewhat obstinate, which people were bringing to us. It was prettier when it was younger, they say. There is more to it than there is in that line.
Within, the entire effect is based on balance. The fluid should remain transparent. The flakes must be free and not form clumps as they have lost interest. The one in there must not lean over as it has surrendered. A restoration professional is not in a hurry. They observe first. Turn the world round. See the snow-flakes come–or not. Look to see that there are no minute air bubbles. The liquid is sometimes aged and cloudy. The flakes are sometimes joined together following years of immobility. To repair it consists of opening the globe, cleaning it inside and pouring it full of fresh solution. It is so easy to say, and it gets hold of you. Any misstep and the spell is lost.
It is not that people have to restore them. Admittedly, a snow globe is not necessary. Nonetheless, it has a meaning. An inconsequential thing that lingered as life passed by. You have a memory of a place that you still live in. A present which came at the right time. It is awkward to replace it, as the memory is replaced with a copy. It does not fall on the same. Restoration carries on the original story. Although the world may be returned a bit different, it is still familiar. Even that slight variation can be added, such as an old memory that has been rubbed down.
At the work bench everything is slowed down. Tools are small. Movements are careful. The world is opened, wiped with an inner, and shut again with the same hand. The space is full of fresh liquid, which is clear and ready. And there comes the time that counts. The world is raised and rocked. Light and steady, as they had always known their part, the flakes fall again. You extend your time of watching it. Since, as though, that little snow-shower had taken up its tune again–and it seems that something had slipped in place again.









