Walking outside today, I noticed how the snow holds memory. Footprints from days past lingered in drifts, some crisp and clear, others softened and fading. Coyote tracks curved through the yard, rabbit paths crisscrossed near the bushes, and even my own footsteps from morning walks were still visible, pressed into the cold surface. Raccoons had left smaller, scattered marks near the edge of the fence line. Some days, though, the wind sweeps across the yard from the vast open farm field across the way, and by the time I complete a loop and return ten minutes later, my own footpath is already gone, buried under fresh drifts. It’s remarkable how the snow preserves and erases moments all at once, holding a quiet record of activity while the world feels still and pale.
Snow changes constantly, yet it keeps pieces of what has passed. Some traces disappear quickly under sun and wind, while others remain for days. Watching it made me think about life and memory, and how some experiences leave lasting impressions while others fade almost immediately. Nature offers a gentle reminder that both kinds matter. The old tracks tell a story to anyone who pauses to notice, and the disappearing ones teach the beauty of letting go.
Animals, humans, and the small interactions of the day all leave marks. Each one differs in scale and permanence, but together they create a quiet tapestry of life in motion. There’s a subtle rhythm in noticing where tracks start, how they curve, and where they end. It’s a small practice of attention, one that invites patience and curiosity, without needing commentary or action.
If today allows, step outside and look for traces in the snow. Notice the different sizes, shapes, and directions of footprints. Follow one path with your eyes or walk along it with your feet, and consider what it might tell you about the day, the animals, or the quiet moments that have passed.
