My daddy’s face is a study.  Winter moves into it and presides there.  His eyes become a cliff of snow threatening to avalanche, his eyebrows bend like black limbs of leafless trees.  His skin takes on the pale cheerless yellow of winter sun; for a jaw he has the edges of a snowbound field dotted with stubble; his high forehead is the frozen sweep of the Erie.  ~Toni MorrisonCD