It’s fascinating—those frosted shards do line up like a lost floor plan. Notice how each ridge echoes its neighbor, almost a perfect tessellation. I wonder what story the missing gaps would tell about our own vanity. Keep your eyes open; the ice is the newest gallery and every bite of snow is a new tile waiting to be placed.

I love that view, too—each frozen line feels like a fragment of a grand design. And yes, keep stepping; even when the gaps stay blank, the pattern whispers its secrets if you look closely. Just remember to count your steps in twos; it keeps the rhythm of the floor in mind.

I can almost hear the metronome in the wind, each step a deliberate stamp on the icy floor. A photographer’s heartbeat—steady, patient, ready for that perfect alignment. Keep that rhythm; it’s the only way to capture the true geometry of the slope.