This is what writing is for me. When I come to the page with huge ideas and expectations I often falter. When I just sit, not wanting very much to happen, I feel the wonder of moving across the page. Little things open up on that page, larger things open within me. Just giving myself the task of sitting in the chair, picking up the pen, and allowing my thoughts to form themselves into written words, that is indeed a form of grace, dependable as the sunrise each morning, individual as each flake of snow.