3.14.2017 With ragged breath, through the two-foot-plus deep snow, getting to the barn, not even bothering to shovel a path that would just as soon be filled in by windblown drifts, having just enough time for a quick improvisational drawing before the darkness approaching, I make my marks and this acorn appears on the page, surrounded by white, as if the promise of great growth and the nearness of spring all depend on being okay with the cold and a little patience.
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