One day in undergrad, I walked across front campus after my German class. The winter had settled in, with all the snow packed down, at no risk of melting. The sun painted some of the buildings with a tinge of gold, and it glanced off the snowy earth. There was hardly a soul in sight.

A large incinerator smokestack across the way was always pumping billowing, white smoke into the air at midday. But on this day, the wind blew such that it crossed paths with the sun, just as I was there.

Pulsing shadows swept over the field. It was beautiful.