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JANUARYAs I step out my back door, a confectioner's sugar world awaits me... ...quiet and sparkling, stealthy and cold is the snow. And ice glazed trees back lit by the sun become spun-glass sculptures that rise in the sky. Snowflakes shimmer in the light like fine diamonds waiting to be mined. Chill January wind blows mushroom colored clouds, and penny-sized flakes begin to fly kissing my face with winter. K. Tate Jacoby copyright 1/20/95 (revised 6/7/06) Poetry Ad-Free Upgrades Vote for this poem
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