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I often wonder where the birds go in a snowstorm, for they disappear completely. I always think of them deep inside the bushes, and further along inside the trees and deep inside of the forests, on branches where no snow can reach, deeply recessed for the time of the snow, not oblivious to it, but intensely accepting their incapacity, and so enduring the snow in brave little inborn ways, with their feathered heads bowed down for warmth.

Mary Ruefle 
Added a year ago by Bryce Wilner
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Mary Ruefle 
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Ruefle, Mary, “Snow” (excerpt), _The Most of It_ (Seattle: Wave Books, 2007). http://www.versedaily.org/2008/snow.shtml
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