Footprints

by SUSAN DEAN

Our house backs up to a grassy hill that rises up to a stand of trees. We have a fence back there, but it’s a short picket fence allowing a view of all the woodsy goings-on through the seasons.

In spring and summer, it’s alive with activity. The drab grays and browns turn all shades of green — each tree a different forest hue from the rich deep emerald grassy meadow. Rabbits and squirrels dart here and there — in constant motion — or sit stock still as hawks or other birds of prey glide high above the treetops.

In fall, the colors are glorious — moving from green to brilliant orange, red, yellow, and deep purple. We’ve seen turkeys strutting their stuff — usually a group — a large tom spreading his bronze-green iridescent arc of tail feathers accompanied by his harem. One time they came through the back gate, which had come unlatched in the wind, and trooped into our backyard — first the tom and then the ladies, one at a time. They checked out the picnic table, foraged a bit through the fading flower beds, and peered at the back deck — eyeing the stairs but apparently thinking better of climbing them. As if they were a collection of sightseeing tourists, just arrived and eager to explore their latest stop. Their mission accomplished, the tom led the crew down the driveway and out to the street where they calmly paraded onward to their next destination.

We saw a full antlered deer back there once and another time two coyotes staked their claim on top of the hill for several days — sitting as if all was well in their world, soaking up the sun, ears alert, noses in the air. Nothing moved while they were in residence. Usually chittering squirrels and playful rabbits are in abundance — rough and tumbling, dashing across the meadow, disappearing into the trees and bushes, but there were no signs of life that week when the coyotes were kings of the hill.

In winter the trees are brown and bare, but we still see birds. The cardinals and blue jays provide dashes of color that brighten the grayness and when there’s snow — their reds and blues are a vivid reminder that beauty is all around us even in winter’s darkest days.

       Winter weather is tough sometimes — disrupting travel and canceling activities and putting life on hold as we deal with the onslaughts of snow and ice. But sometimes the quiet overnight snowfalls are peaceful and we wake to see our world covered in a soft white blanket transforming our normal outside view from drab to clean bright white.

And most times when this happens I can see the tell-tale signs of the winter animals going about their nocturnal or early-morning travels. For some reason, this rather delights me. Tracks of various sizes and shapes appear near the back fence at different starting points and meander about — some heading straight across the backyard to the large ancient maple tree standing tall and bare. Some tracks go in arcs and circles, stopping at different parts of the yard and continuing on to another stopping place, or doubling back or crisscrossing other sets of tracks. Footprints in the snow that leave a temporary record of nature’s never-ending activity in what we call the dead of winter. But nature and life continue to hum — very much alive even as the land seems to lie dormant — quiet, idle, asleep.

There is an elderly man who lives in our neighborhood. I don’t know his name — we’ve never met — and for years he rode his bike slowly down our street and past our house every morning. Then there was a time when we didn’t see him and we wondered what had happened. But eventually he resumed his morning outings — only this time walking very slowly using a cane. And this has now become his daily routine. One step in front of the other — making tracks of a different kind — leaving footprints in my mind. Footprints that tell of his perseverance, his courage, his motivation to keep moving and to keep going despite the difficulties.

He reminds me that we all leave footprints of our time on earth. The footprints we leave are our legacy. We were here and every one of us makes a difference in our own unique way. Footprints in the snow — tracks that signify that life goes on and that it is meaningful and purposeful. That something living has left its mark on earth.

My neighbor’s footsteps are leaving a mark on me without his even knowing it. Footprints that silently teach me how to gracefully and courageously move through the seasons of my life. And remind me that my footprints — like the nighttime tracks left behind in the winter snows — signify that I was here. What legacy will I leave behind?