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The Dime
Snowflakes fell again last night, a winter that was suddenly remembering itself. The flakes were large, light, and crystaline; each one proudly displayed its six-point beauty as if it were captured in a school text book. One fell on my coat sleeve. It had seven points. I counted again, and then again. Seven points. I licked it up with my tongue before it could melt, because it was unlike four-leaf clovers, and the best thing I could do it make it a part of me.