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17 S N O W D R O P S , F O R T J U N I P E R for Robert Francis They bloom through each blanket of March snow, and I am unable to believe they are blossoming after my winter of solitude. When the snow melts, I can’t help but see them: these augurs of spring that offer the fragrance of the wind that blows over new snow, the three white, waxy petals on their small tubular stems nodding among their speared leaves. When I walk around to the west side of the cabin, I hear Robert’s voice: Go and see the snowdrops, always seeing more of them, and how they spread out, not having seen them after twenty years, but now seeing them again for the first time. ...

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