Muddy snowbanks: the grime is patterned if you look close enough.
Windswept rivulets crinkle through the beige snowy sand.
Foot marks clawed, by dogs, by crows.
The remnants of salt, that your dutiful neighbour scattered for you over the walkway, rests, a tiny grace that deserves a grateful sigh.
The texture of life carries so much meaning in the markings seen by those writers who truly see.