Movement cannot be hidden when it snows. Daily patterns that otherwise evading being known are now plotted. So many tire tracks in my back alley, all leading out in the same direction. All made by workers. A single set of footprints opposing my current ones. But they were made by me earlier this morning. Nature reveals the patterns of lives lived out daily. Soon they will disappear, and I will revert back to knowing nothing. Just until new ones emerge.