I grew up around snow in the mountains of Salt Lake City, and I've always liked fresh fields of snow. I have these blurry recollections of being with my brothers in snowbanks that feel like they never ended, at least in memory. Other blank canvases feel dauntingly permanent, like a new notebook waiting for whatever first & everlasting words are scratched ungracefully across. But snow is impermanent, and it'll come again. Your footprints will last for maybe a few days, etched only into ice like a brilliant and beautiful memory that has been layered over once and then and over and then over again. Which makes it all the more important to at least try to occasionally retrace impossibly lost steps, reflecting on places we've been and time we shared with others, all like it never ended, even in memory.