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02/01/2004: "Quiet"
It is not virgin snow any more, and it's interesting to see what that means. It's a little sullied, a little soiled, sure, but that isn't what is most distinctive about it. It has a history, now, and that history is written on it physically. A trail of footprints, out of the woods, where a deer walked in the night. Another, lightly drawn trail, starting nowhere and ending without warning. A bird alit. A glossy patch, freckled and dimpled, where the dripping icicles left their trace beneath. The exposed, slumbering, earth, here and there, where the snow was not able to stay for long. Yesterday's youthful, leaping snowbanks have relaxed and crumpled into lower, flatter mounds. It's just as peaceful as it was before, but wiser, somehow.
