Footprints In The Snow

Vest, t-shirt, jumper, and coat,

hiking boots, gloves, scarf and jeans,

three pairs of socks wrapped in plastic bags,

I will stay warm by any means.

I step out of the house and into the snow,

which comes up above my knees,

no cars on the roads, no people walking by,

no birds are singing from the trees,

but it’s clear that I am not the first to venture,

out of the warmth and into the cold,

and as I start walking, looking at the ground,

the footprints and the stories unfold.

I can see where the cats have struggled to get home,

after nights of fights and play,

and I can see where dogs have marked their territory,

in a less than well mannered way.

I follow the path of an adult and child,

you can tell by the imprints that are remaining,

and then the marks left by the child disappear

as they are carried to stop them complaining,

I come across the patterns of many feet,

snow has been scooped off of walls,

the remains of a battle of epic proportion,

with laughter and an excess of snowballs,

I get to the bus stop as the grit van passes,

and see a tailback a few miles long,

I heave a sign and turn back home,

if they think I’m going to work they’re wrong.

When I get back I call the boss,

and I tell him I’m going to have to stay home,

then I grab my sledge and I’m out the door,

to make some footprints of my own.