There are many ways to look at a snowbank.
You can admire its layers.
You can note the craggy ice that forms its main part, the clear and refrozen melt at the bottom, the fresh white frosting of the latest snowfall on top.
You can marvel at how it draws away from walls and stands on tiptoes in shelves over the ground.
You can take shelter behind it as the salt truck splashes down the road spewing spray.
You can be heartened by the runoff flowing from under the bottom.
You can be disgusted by the black crud that has built up on its sides. Where does that come from, you wonder. The street? The air? Was I breathing that?
Or you can kick it and wish it would melt.