A poem.
Wonder winter in the desert has a type of poetry all its own
?the way silence bears the weight of snow
?and the sun struggles weakly through an ash colored sky
?weak and weary, like a swimmer without rest
? it's as if a young man on a trip with his parents and younger brother
?would awaken at 6:30 one frosty morning
?(the dawn being a mixture of pink and black)
?stepping out of his motel room in a tiny town in southern Utah
?and in five minutes of empty staring
?could store up enough wonder for the world
?that he could begin asking himself what college was for anyway
? on a trip to see Bryce Canyon in the days after Christmas, before the new year
?so that when the boy awakened, the two of them alone without their parents
?could stare together for a solid ten minutes
?each of their five minutes joined together
?and say nothing, their hands jammed in trouser pockets
?air like smoke pouring from their mouths and nostrils
?gazing at the bare mountains covered with snow
?like massive cakes with frosting
? sensing that this stuff of postcards
?combined with the fading phosphorescence of the motel's neon sign
?was very good, and beyond all explanation
? ? Paul Flodquist
Source: http://rss.csmonitor.com/~r/feeds/csm/~3/wNkzKfMVHgU/Wonder
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