Sometimes in life you know where you are going: Nowhere.
Nowhere is good. You know all that time in the desert? Elephants on the Alps trying to invade Russia? Even Napoleon didn’t know where to draw the line: Three days before his arrival back home he’d write to Josephine: Don’t wash.
Snow is good. It makes you halt. In hope you won’t, unintentionally, start an avalanche. In which you, yourself, will get buried.