Secrets in the snow

As the snow fades, so do the secrets in the snow. From four and two legs many journeys are revealed as a burglar leaving fingerprints. Secrets of journeys made whilst I was focused elsewhere and in the darkness after dusk. Visits, made quietly and stealthily by those whose lives are also here - cats, foxes, squirrels, birds...others? Criss-cross patterns in the snow, some small, round paws, others lean and long. How often I welcome the cat, trotting toward me up the garden path with upright, tip turned over tail. Or I glimpse the fox slinking across the back or the squirrel suddenly bounds across the grass. Yet I do not know by what routes they came or go? And little of why. But for this brief time the snow records their many journeys, places too dug, scrapped, tossed around. A straight line of small potholes in soft snow lead directly to the side fence. And a break in the snow lining the top of the fence tells of the jump onto or over it. Purposeful prints proceed across roof tops of sheds and next door's lean-to. So these are their routes, their journeys around my life, of their life. And, whilst I may know little of their's, it seems they know more of mine. For the most travelled garden is the one belonging to the elderly resident who rarely comes outside. The safest place to be. The rest of us are watched, sniffed out.

The day moves on. The air warms, snow melts. My view into their world recedes and soon, again, the grass will be green and feet pass over unseen.