A soft snow puts spring on pause and turns the lane into a poem.

Snow covered branches turn the forest into a modern abstract canvas. Though is it modern art? People thousands of years ago saw these very shapes and forms.

Snow turns the pile of discarded tires some thoughtless person threw away in the dead of night into something beautiful for a day or two. Who do you call to get rid of thirty truck tires tossed onto a vacant lot? Who has thirty truck tires? It’s a mystery with possible connections to desperate and shady characters I’d rather not meet. Maybe someone has whispered something in your ear about these very tires.

Someday in the future, we’ll be able to take a photo with our phones and it will be able to analyze the DNA it sees on such tires instantly and tell us everyone who ever touched the tires. But will we want to know?

Walking home is like walking through a poem.