I’m snowshoeing amongst the smells of pine. The fresh powder shushing as I make a path following the way I know. Save for my footsteps, the only sound is of wet snows leaving their blanket piles, shedding off branches, making soft noises collapsed on the ground. Occasionally I come across others enjoying the small sounds in the stillness, and we stop. Meeting wide-eyed, steam coming from each of our breath we stare hoping the other won’t notice. We stand still, blending into the trees around us, trying to breathe shallow and quiet. We stay like this for some moments, assessing, then go about our business on separate paths, keeping one eye wary less it warrant bounding away.