A walk in the park

There's something special about a park covered in fresh, powdery snow. The white expanse is like an invitation to run across it, scooping up handfuls, tying to bunch them together and throwing it, trailing white, towards the target, so much that its impact is barely felt.

The large flat expanse is far more inviting than its previous shade of green. Walking through the park in autumn, I did not see the appeal of leaving the path to head in a random direction. Covered in white though, I could not contain myself to the path, following the example of other tracks traced in the snow. The sensation of walking across the fresh snow is like walking across squeaky beach sand, as it gives way a bit at a time with a slight crunching sound. As you step forward, small pieces fly forward and on top of your boots, just like beach sand. And as you look back, you can trace your footsteps imprinted there.

There is often a high-pitched squealing as children run from each other, and the same actions are repeated in small groups all over the park, regardless of age: scoop, threaten, grin, chase, aim poorly, repeat. There is a child-like mischievousness that is revealed in people of all ages in a fresh fall of snow. And what's not to love?