Grace is the thin bones of winter trees. Grace is the musical rattle of memory. Grace is the alive current between us. Grace isn't always a woman. Grace is the snowy down of geese's wings.
Grace is the stir of velvet and cream lace.
Grace is the curtain of green pine and cedar. Grace is the copper enamel of sundown. Grace is the brilliant ribbon of desire. Grace isn't always a woman. Grace is the first day of every season.