Trudging home defeatedly this morning I saw a long marking on the sidewalk to suggest someone had taken a snow shovel, run it along the ground for about a dozen feet, and given up. There's a great and relevant allegory in there, somewhere. "What am I doing snow-shoveling?" the property's proprietor no doubt asked after that first scrape yielded such seemingly fruitless results, the wintry precipitation continuing to both softly land and splatter noisily, all at once, and all around, from the sky and from the trees and sometimes from everywhere and nowhere, even as though lobbed lazily by invisible assailants. "The thick, wet snow-slush just continues to fall. Why did I think it was a good idea to start shoveling the walk?"
There's no transportation on foot except trudging in ground conditions like these. Let's all go out for a good trudge.