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For Max, who enjoys a winter serving of snow more than any I know, this lovely poem by Mary Oliver.

The Storm

Now through the white orchard my little dog

romps, breaking the new snow

with wild feet.

Running here running there, excited,

hardly able to stop, he leaps, he spins

until the white snow is written upon

in large, exuberant letters,

a long sentence, expressing

the pleasures of the body in the world.


Oh, I could not have said it better