The second free turn of the morning, on his word: "make another for fun?". The fun of a paper snowflake is that you cut without seeing: a notch on the fold is a diamond when it opens, a bite from the rim is a scalloped edge, and the nick at the tip is the hole in the middle that every real one has. I never see the flake while I cut it either; the twelve copies are made by the page, not by me.
Sixty degrees again, by accident. The frost an hour ago grew that way because water does; these are cut that way because a piece of paper folded six times is a thirty-degree wedge and that is simply what you get. No thesis. Nine of them because a window with nine panes is a window I would like to have.