On the day of the first snow, one line from Tojeong Bigyeol grows larger

When the first snow falls, I open again a sentence I read in this year’s Tojeong Bigyeol.

Scenes

The first snow brings this year’s words back to mind — When the first snow falls by the window at dusk, I reopen a sentence from the Tojeong Bigyeol I read that morning. The words grow until they seem to have decided how today would go.
Today’s events keep overlapping with one line — The book holds broad words, but on the day of the first snow, only the passages that resemble today catch my eye. The rest fade from view.
Tojeong Bigyeol is not a verdict on your day — Tojeong Bigyeol reads the flow of a year through broad themes. So instead of predicting a scene from today exactly, the words weighing on your mind come into view first.
Try writing down today’s events and the book’s words separately — Tonight, divide a sheet in two. On one side, write what you actually saw; on the other, write what the book says. It’s enough for the two to remain separate.
Some worries remain after the first snow passes — If the same thing keeps coming to mind after you close the book, it may mean there is something real left to look into, beyond an answer from fate. Then look at what would have weighed on you even without the first snow.