We were in the midst of winter and as I leaned my head against the trucks cold window my breath fogged it’s glass. A circle of dewy mist manifested and like the truth hiding shroud that envelopes human consciousness it too obscured the scenery outside. I drew patterns and shapes in the mist so I could just see through to what lay beyond.

The streets and sidewalks were dirty with sand and salt left over from the winter storms. Half melted mounds of muddy snow banks lined the edges of the streets. The ground sprouted lifeless dry grass that had been frozen by the bitter temperature. Molted grey cloud clover cast only dull shadows against the wintry backdrop allowing no sun rays to shine through. Ahead of me the road stretched straight and was lined with rows of worn down buildings painted in various hues of grey and brown, broken up only by the occasional strip mall or gas station. The repetitive hum of the engine and wheels gliding over the smooth asphalt lulled me into my meditative mind.

Thoughts of creation, life, and infinite anything’s floated in my mind like the delicate wispy snowflakes that gently fell from the sky to rest on the frozen ground. I thought to myself , ‘why?’. Why would people choose to paint their houses such cheerless colors, cheerless in a child’s perspective, if they could just as easily choose a pleasing shade of purple or blue?

As I naively romanticized my belief in the limitless creative power of human beings to shape the world around them as they wished, even unto the pattern of the weather I pondered who would create such a season? Why would one choose winters cold and bitter gale when they could have summers warm and soft breeze? The real beauty I find now is in the choice, but I was struck.