The snow-powdered bridge marks the threshold to the forest. Underneath, water flows through available crevices in large ice blocks. As I enter the path lined by snowy pines, my footsteps soften and the clamor of the highway dissipates.

One one side, the stream continues. On the other, a snowy hill lined in shrubs keeps visitors on the path. I go past this greenery and find solitude waiting for me. A few feet into the open woods, I see the perfection that only unbroken nature could provide, a place on earth that I had only read about in books. The trash littered towns, warming suburbs–places I had lived my whole life in–they would never look like this whimsical wonderland.

My footsteps leave imprints in the snow. Perhaps another wanderer will wonder who I was. Or maybe the snow will have fallen again by then, erasing all trace of me, of the enjoyment this crisp new world gave me.

Running down the hill, my foot finds itself stuck deep in the soft snows. Such occurrences are impossible in garbage-streaked concrete.

In a clearing ahead, the sun pokes its head out of the clouds. I meander to a navy pool, the product of the brook.

I capture hours of the scenery with my glowing phone, videos I have never fully watched. Much like describing snow-laden nature on an artificial computer screen, watching records creates an incomplete picture of the memory, one that will never be the same as the real experience.

I walk uphill moist wooden stairs to a path half built into the mountainside, the rushing stream running in between a gorge, my path above it. Icicles, large as their superior rimy trees, line the walls farther up and deep below. The river had shaped the rocks, fed the trees, and now soothes my ears, the roar of highway cars long gone.

My path winds, directly over the rushing stream. But there’s now a more distant expanse between my point and the waterway, drowning out its tones. My recollections of the day can never be wholly relived, only redesigned in my head, and by my choice without the aid of the plastic electronic fitting in the palm of my hand.

The minutes grow long. My fingers grow numb. Hunger gnaws in my belly. My tired eyes droop. Cars on the highway are more audible as I traverse back.