Favete linguis
It is snowing again. I cannot believe– nor describe– what the falling snow does to me. It quiets everything about me– reduces it to less than a small quiver, to a stillness that my geminin and manic soul never knows in waking life.
It is snowing again. I cannot believe– nor describe– what the falling snow does to me. It quiets everything about me– reduces it to less than a small quiver, to a stillness that my geminin and manic soul never knows in waking life.