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| 7e81ef6 | There's an Edna St. Vincent Millay poem that's been rumbling around inside me ever since I first read it, and part of it goes: 'Blown from the dark hill hither to my door/ Three flakes, then four/ Arrive, then many more.' You can count the first three flakes, and the fourth. Then language fails, and you have to settle in and try to survive the blizzard | poem edna-st-vincent-millay snow-flake john-green turtles-all-the-way-down snow | John Green |