I was out of town visiting a friend in a suburb of a suburb of a small city. We took her hyperactive dog out for a walk at some point. There was something fantastic out there. Fresh air, maybe? I expect it was a combination of things. The air was nice and fresh, and cold and sharp. It was chilly, but I was properly dressed, the snow squeaked and crunched satisfyingly under my feet. Beyond her voice, there was a wonderful, strangely haunting sound. The loud shush of cars passing on the nearby highway. The traffic was light; you could hear each one coming a long ways off, the sound slowly building until you could make out the rough tear of the wheels on the heavily salted asphalt.

I found the entire walk incredibly, profoundly calm and beautiful. There is doubtless some correaltion to my childhood in a small, wintery town. Hearkening back to running home in the deep canyons of cleared sidewalks through a sodium-yellow murk.