It’s only mid-January. Still dark in the mornings as I arrive at school. Quiet. The playground shrouded in shadows. Mounds transforming the landscape. Nothing looks familiar. There is a faint rustle through the trees as a breeze picks up. The low rubble of truck engines hum in the background. The potential for more is there, in those shadows. It is almost like a negative of a print. Or two sides of a coin. This emptiness beckons to be filled. And soon it will be filled with the voices of youngsters as they tumble and roll down the hill, dig into the snow banks, and run around and through the spaces.