Snow on the ground, shallow and dirty. Up in the trees it’s crusty and clean. Walking and talking, cars kicking dust, it settles still dry on the roadside snow. White seems more bright, in this afternoon light, and dust is not only kicked up by the cars. Snow jokes like a salve and covers his wounds and rambles like honey, sweetening mine. And dust in the snow becomes gaps in his lines or dark flaws in my light-hearted tales. Both are designed to look white and bright, to cover the dark things - dirt and limb. Which are more lofty covering whiter? Which bear the dust of weaker defense?