You stand there at top of the hill, looking off into the distance. Snow drifts down from a homogenous grey sky and covers everything as far as you can see. The horizon is dark, and the air is cool and crisp. You feel more awake than you have in a long time.

You look at the ground and notice tiny lines, tracks in the snow, stretching out in all directions from where you stand. The lines zigzag to the left or right and then course correct in the opposite direction. Some of the lines end after a short distance, but others continue over the crest and down the hill, where the tracks become wide and deep and ultimately dissapear.

You feel compelled to reach down and grab a handful of snow, and, taking it into your hand, form it into a ball. You then toss the snowball onto the ground in front of you where it lands in the fresh drift with a soft pff. Resting there, you feel the snowball has some potential, so you walk up and give it a little kick. The ball goes a short distance and then stops again. You give it another kick, and then another. The ball travels a bit to the left; you push it back to the right, continuing forward like this and constantly correcting to straddle some imaginary center line.

After enough kicking and rolling, the ball becomes heavy and catches the grade. It moves slowly at first, but eventually picks up speed as it rolls down the hill. You stay and watch the boulder grow until it rolls out of sight, leaving behind it a straight and deepening line that vanishes into the wash of grey surrounding you.

When the ball is gone, you turn around and walk back to the top of the hill. You know this place, but something’s different now, some new feeling. You can't quite put your finger on it. And, not knowing where to go from here, you reach down and grab a handful of snow.

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