Perfection is for snowflakes and they melt away.

It is snowing. It's a warm snow. I took a long walk. People and cars were moving gingerly through it. (The word gingerly kept coming to mind while I was walking.)
It gets quieter when it snows. No matter where I've ever lived, the snow adds an extra sound buffer, like a rug on a live stage or an egg crate in a practice room.
I love how the snow sticks to people walking in it. It reminds me of sprinkling the cinnamon on my perfectly foamed Cappuccino. Every step there is another photo, symbols of quiet and solitude all around.
I love when I walk through the neighborhood during snowfall. The sidewalks are layered and you can see the footprints of the people who have already walked there. It's an added pleasure when I'm the first to walk down a sidewalk. With each step I scar the delicate lacey blanket of snowflakes leaving something new behind. This excites me in the same way the first cut into a beautiful, artistic birthday or wedding cake does. A poetic and harmless destruction of perfection to create a different kind of sad beauty. This brand of beauty has always appealed to me more than perfection ever could.
When I look back down a street and only see my footprints I momentarily feel like the only person in the whole world. You don't get that feeling living right in the heart of a big city very often, so it is welcome.
For a minute the whole city is clean again. Everything is white with ice crystal sparkles. Soft edges everywhere. If you squint just right, nothing is bad. There is peace.

But my favorite thing about Seattle snow is that I know by the morning it will be gone.
The only Long Winters here play rock music.
This makes me truly appreciate every snowflake and it's own brand of fleeting perfection.