On an unrelated note, today is Charles Reznikoff's birthday. Enjoy his poem!
Now that black ground and bushes—— saplings, trees, each twig and limb——are suddenly white with snow, and earth becomes brighter than the sky, that intricate shrub of nerves, veins, arteries—— myself——uncurls its knotted leaves to the shining air. Upon this wooded hillside, pied with snow, I hear only the melting snow drop from the twigs.
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