Footprints in the Snow

Footprints in the Snow

The bitterness of winter troubles me,
Although there's beauty in its starkness, white;
Summer's vibrant life, gone so completely,
Smothered by blankets of milky samite.
As desert sand drifts and buries the past,
Blizzard blown snow strolls its bright, blinding path,
Tripping and filling each crevice so fast,
It wipes out all traces of winter's wrath.
I venture out into this world gone pale,
Hearkening back to robust, younger days,
But my age fails against the roaring gale,
And I stop, transfixed in a pallid haze.
The wind whispers, "You have further to go,"
Then fills up my footprints with drifting snow.

Mick McKellar
March 2013


I suppose I have always lived inside my own head, and perhaps that explains why I loved walking about in the midst of winter's fury. My health no longer permits such adventure, but memories of donning parka, boots, gloves or choppers, and a scarf to cover my face if necessary, still surface from time to time. Revelling in the frigid ferocity of an Alberta Clipper, dancing through drifts of silvery white, singing along with the winter wind's wail, all were perfected best after twilight -- when the solitude was most profound. I was life, warm and protected, standing in the midst of frozen oblivion, surveying the Stygian shore and patiently waiting for a chance to once again conquer death. These days, I find it best to remain indoors, cozy and warm, and remember the adventures, and the always transient footprints in the snow.

Mick