Footprints in the Snow

Footprints in the Snow

By Susannah Halliburton

Black snow boots crunching,

Marching,

Four pairs together

Sounding like a small army

Striving, on a mission

To reach the top of the frosted hill.

Icy blasts of wind

A child’s lost blue mitten,

Dark against light.

Everything is contrast,

Bright white invading our eyes

Frosting our lashes with cold, sugar dust.

Footprints in the snow,

The long-forgotten shadows of yesterday.

Four-year-old feet in small boots, long, blonde hair tucked into beige wool hat from Grandma,

Bundled into two thick coats and mittens, trundling uphill fast.

Excited to reach home – a warm, cozy nest of toys and fun.

Moss-covered alders beginning to tip from the weight of the snow

Long crystals breaking and falling, clinking like cracking glass.

Only the ivy on the nursery tree is untouched by the angry fingers of frost,

Seeming as green and fresh as ever.

A young deer’s wide-eyed gaze stops me in my tracks.

“Shh,” my finger to my lips, I point.

Crunching stops, small panting breaths can’t be hushed,

The only sound now

In the thickened silence of snow.

Her eyes gaze deep within mine, sending me a message of fortune.

And I hear a whisper in the trees, the ghost of my father is near,

Watching me hike the hill with my children.

I smile at his quiet, knowing presence.

The deer gets spooked and runs

But I feel the kindness of my father

Living in the trees around me.

Grandmother in a pine, Grandfather in spruce,

The trees moan a wish to be real again,

Straining to be alive.

An old, charcoal grey Ford truck, sits abandoned nearby,

Decrepit-looking lawnmowers and trailers, half-tipped and left out to freeze and rust,

Yellow marks staining the whiteness here,

As my child warns, “Don’t eat the pineapple snow.”

Hot breath panting, almost there

Our driveway is a skating rink.

One must focus solely on walking to stay upright.

Any spontaneous chatter may end up in a painful fall.

Strange, shadowy prints by the front door,

Showing paws of different sizes.

The gleeful coming and goings of canines

In greeting, the highlight of their day.

When we open the door, they burst through

Like banshees, jumping and howling all over us.

Small, white boot prints now on the inside mat,

Abandoned snow boots with melting ice, drip and pool water on the floor.

Small ski jackets dumped in a pile.

We’re home!