Snow always makes me think of grace. Always. There is something so sweet and gentle and yet thorough and complete about the way it covers ugly deadness with something so gorgeous and startlingly clean and fresh. Beautiful.
It is gentle enough to rest lightly on a tiny little berry or dried up stem. . .
But it doesn't erase what it covers. It just rests there until it eventually melts into its host. And the more it soaks into the ground and roots and stems it settles on, the more spectacular the following spring tends to be--alive with brilliance and color.
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