Those days of blistering cold are almost always accompanied by a kind of light that is so pure and crystallized it feels like salvation, if salvation could feel like anything. There is a type of winter light, a cold light seeming warm, a light that, when beamed through a windowpane, feels like it clears whatever it touches, maybe even forgives it. It is a light that makes you forget death, a light that makes you wonder if death is even possible. It is a light like water, as beautiful as it is full of life.

Poem about Bruce Springsteen where? 🥺

“It is sometimes so bitterly cold in the winter that one says, `The cold is too awful for me to care whether summer is coming or not; the harm outdoes the good.' But with or without our approval, the severe weather does come to an end eventually and one fine morning the wind changes and there is the thaw. When I compare the state of the weather to our state of mind and our circumstances, subject to change and fluctuation like the weather, then I still have some hope that things may get better.”

When you take a flower in your hand and really look at it, it’s your world for the moment. I wanted to give that world to someone else.