I have always enjoyed watching snow fall. From a very early age I would sit at the window and watch as the snow fell and covered the world and turned everything white. I would watch as it covered the streets and the grass on the lawn, the shrubs out front and the bare branches of the trees. I especially loved to watch it fall at night, when I could see the snowflakes fluttering through the light of the streetlamp. The best part was when the snow fell deep enough to thoroughly cover everything. It bothered me when I could still see blades of grass poking up through the newly fallen snow. It seemed incongruent, out of place, and imperfect. So, I waited for the snow to cover the lawn deeply enough to completely cover all the grass.
In the morning when I would go outside, I would hesitate before I stepped on the lawn. The snowscape was perfect, pristine and pure…untouched by anyone. I would stand there in wonder and soak it all in, knowing that my first step would undo the whole thing. One step and it would no longer be perfect. I knew that once I had tracked through that snow, it didn’t matter if the snow kept falling and covered my tracks I would still be able to see the indentations made by my boots. Inches more could fall, but still, when I watched again from my window that night, I could still make out the depressions of my steps being slowly filled in by the snow that continued to fall.