It’s that snow that can blot out all the skyscrapers in Manhattan, but can barely stick on the warm ground here in Brooklyn. Still, just enough that I can’t resist leaving a pattern of footprints, careful to make each one perfect, each tread legible. It’s like finding the first iced-over puddle of the year. You have to gently tap it with your toe. You have crack it and watch the water seep free. You have to. You just have to.

story © Dianna Carr         images © Francis Tremblay