Grace is the smooth texture of rainstorms. Grace is the mad blood of thunder. Grace is the pulsing vein of air and wind. Grace is the carving of midnight shadows. 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.