Beyond my open door is the complete white of six inches of fresh snowfall. There is no sidewalk to the door, no driveway, and a hill of snow that covers my little red car that I need to drive to work.
I grab the black snow shovel leaning next to my door and place it in front of me. There is only the scraping of the shovel, revealing my sidewalk, to interrupt the quietness of the early morning.
With two strips of black separating the road of white, I slowly drive my little red car, now looking like a red poodle with its puffs of white still clinging to it, traveling down the road.