I traverse a void of white, content with my solitude.

The sun has passed its peak in the sky, and my shadow slowly extends as it approaches the horizon.

The only sounds are the crunching of my footsteps, the quiet song of the wind over the ice, and the cacophony of the city across the lake.

The din of thousands of cars, rushing past each other on the highway

The clattering of construction

Different speakers blaring out different songs

The babbling of thousand of voices,

Thousands of conversations

Thousands of destinations

Thousands of daily struggles

All blended together, into one rambling but continuous heartbeat, suffocating up close, but reduced to a quiet hum across the miles of ice

It is as if I am on a cloud, seeing the entire world at once. 

The city stretches out its arms, but falls short, only able to grasp with its fingertips.

Nothing can reach out here.

Not the tangle of times, dates, and obligations.

Not the endless sea of documents, forums and papers.

None of the describing, examining, defining.

But I return to those grasping arms for which I was out of reach.

As I step over the ice ridge and onto the shore, I am reimmersed in it all.

I have left the ice, but it stays with me.