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It’s looking quite beautiful this morning in Locust Grove.

December 5, 2009
My 4 year old daughter woke up and looked outside and recited this poem. She blows me away seemingly everyday.

Snow is a mind
falling, a continuous breath
of climbs, loops, spirals,
dips into the earth
like white fireflies
wanting to land, finding
a wind between houses,
diving like moths
into their own light
so that one wonders
if snow is a wing’s
long memory across winter.

~Steve Crow, “Revival”

Posted via email from superbalanced

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