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January 22, 2020
As the bright sunlight hit my windshield, I saw faint traces of snowflakes. Hundreds of them, spread out over the glass, except it wasnít the actual snowflakes, but their outlines left behind. Ghostly remains, faded footprints, pick your metaphor, simile or comparison. When the light was right, I could also see the outline of snowflakes on the rear window. I donít think Iíve ever seen that before. They didnít look like the tracks of hoarfrost. The windshield held the impression of a field of big, fat, individual snowflakes, as if they were laid out on a department store jewelry counter.