Footfall thunderous, thudding. No give in the ground. Crunching through frozen mud and thin white ice that begs to be broken.

This is what I’ve been walking on this winter when I venture off road to stroll on trail or berm. It’s a strange sensation, expecting give where you don’t find it.

Not unlike returning to a scenic spot of once-great beauty to find it befouled with new houses and fences.

The ground I knew — soft, fragrant, pliable — has become another rough element, something that doesn’t move with me but against me. It’s ground that may as well be … pavement.