Footprints

I'm going to miss winter when it's over.

I know that's an unpopular opinion, especially in those areas of the country that get a lot of cold and snow. Oh, I won't miss the shoveling (mostly because my husband does it!), and I definitely won't miss the dicey driving on slick roads.

But there's something about wintertime that encourages introspection. The books we read are longer and meatier than what we tote to the beach. Our meals are warmer and heartier than the lighter fare of summer. Even the frigid waters of the ocean have a clarity unobstructed by the overheated crush of humanity in the warmer months. Because we spend more time inside, it's almost as if we're in a semi-hibernation mode. With fewer outside distractions, we turn in upon ourselves and delve down into our very essence, what makes us "us".

A couple of weeks ago, I was looking out the windows of my house at the white and frozen tundra that is the northeast in February. Despite the apparent stillness, hundreds of animal tracks dotted the landscape: three-toed bird prints on my front step; bounding piles of snow in a frantic pattern that can only have come from happy dogs in love with the here and now; the mincing, delicate pawprints of cats. In my sideyard was a steady stream of deer hoofprints showing the curious trek that took them over the fence and through the now-dormant garden. Some of the deer tracks even led right up to (and apparently inside) my open garage door. The crazy criss-cross of tracks was a snapshot of all the different creatures going about their daily business while I, unknowing, was inside and going about my own.

People often refer to this time of year as the "dead of winter". But everywhere I look, there is evidence to the contrary, captured in the winter snow.

I'm going to miss winter when it's over (at least until the first good beach day).

Photo used by permission and license of beautifulcataya.