Finds tongues in trees, books in the running brooks, sermons in stones, and good in everything.
January 3rd, 2014, 8am
It was -7.2°C. The wind was light.
Part of me knows that the fog is a result of cold weather and inversion, of dense pollution hanging in clouds above our city. But another part of me catches sight of glittery particles floating in the air around me, and tiny white crystals lining each tree limb and needle, and I’m convinced it’s magic.
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