Wet, cold, ice.
Soaking through our gloves, freezing our cheeks, making our teeth ache as we walk head on into the swirling, frenzied clouds of flakes. Relentless. Unforgiving. Cold.
Grinning with delight as the sun sets and sets the world ablaze; glittering in the half light, this blank slate of possibilities temporarily transforming the mundane into something unknown and wildly magical.
We act differently when the world we know is hidden from view.
The air feels sharper in our throat and the smiles on our face are more genuine and maybe in the snow we can be someone else, for a spell. Crunching underfoot, muffling our steps. Blank space on the outside making more room on the inside to be something more. To be something good. To be something, at all.