I see your white glistening valley stretched ahead of me.  The shimmering snow beckons me to touch, to feel, to surrender myself to its softness.  Much as I long to put my prints upon the freshly fallen beauty of it, I know deep within me that unless I am wanted, the print is a temporary mark that is gone by Spring leaving no trace.  If you allow me to touch below that surface to the solid earth that is your core, the mark is eternal and we both are changed deeply by the touching.

Bonnie Bull (1978)

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