![](https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi6AkxxKUd_gWtFyxtY_3U8CxWLxZHTevi07Yu3sG6309OYDJHsHzFqeUX6cwjF3fRftYUmhNzI7S_a5hlH212cF8Y93FcWO5I7VneEadG6vObqj1TWeI83aOSAgzWz2M_OFxyrM6IEEYQ/s400/100_0074.jpg)
Winter speaks
to the surfeited heart,
weary of heat
and weeds
and leaves,
longing to breathe
cold, bracing air,
explore the hillsides
swept and bare;
to revel each bush,
each tree
stripped to stark
simplicity;
original etchings
everywhere-
and You,
who etched them,
with me there.
-Ruth Bell Graham
to the surfeited heart,
weary of heat
and weeds
and leaves,
longing to breathe
cold, bracing air,
explore the hillsides
swept and bare;
to revel each bush,
each tree
stripped to stark
simplicity;
original etchings
everywhere-
and You,
who etched them,
with me there.
-Ruth Bell Graham
Comments
magical!