more rubies, more love.

"I wish I could be a girl again, with the chance to live my life again.   I have suffered so much more than I needed to.   And the joys I have felt have not always been joyous.   I could have lived differently.   When I was your age, my grandfather bought me a ruby bracelet.   It was too big for me and would slide up and down my arm.   It was almost a necklace.   He later told me that he had asked the jeweler to make it that way.   Its size was supposed to be a symbol of his love.   More rubies, more love.   But I could not wear it comfortably.   I could not wear it at all.   So here is the point of everything I have been trying to say.   If I were to give a bracelet to you, now, I would measure your wrist twice." 

{The ending paragraph of a letter from a grandmother to her granddaughter in Extremely Loud and Incredibly Close by Jonathan Safran Foer}

I like to think of love like that. The kind of thing that wraps around twice. Because once just isn't enough. And I think it's the kind of love you can't wear comfortably that is most important. 

winter song.

Have you ever made a snow angel?

Sometimes my little brother and I would make snow angels. All it takes is laying on snow covered ground and moving your arms and legs up and down. Once you stop moving and look up at the gray sky, everything seems to be really still. That's my favorite part. The stillness. I love the way snow makes everything quiet. The smell of the cold air, the falling flakes that cover every last piece of earth, the quietness of it all: that's where the magic is for me.

I adore snow. And I miss my little brother.