Snow, that is.
Crisp, innocent snow. Perfect white blankness (watch out, I might feel a haiku coming on...)
Gotta make your own brand of strange fun. The outcome is even more satisfying if you take a running jump and land on two feet in a big unspoiled patch (hard to do without the skid marks of sloppiness), creating the footprints of (well-shod) angels fallen from heaven.
I think if I were a boy I would enjoy practicing "writing in the snow."
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