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Snow is a blank blanket,
A clean canvas,
Obscuring what lies beneath it,
Snow is a poem of the air.
Snow was my first material
For sculpture
From early childhood,
Snow always radiated light
In dark Decembers.
As a child, I sat at grandma’s kitchen
For hours,
And watched how ice crystals
Were circulating all around,
Flew past my eye
And quietly sank to the ground…