So many prints in the snow.
How will I tell which ones are yours?
It’s simple, really. I will look for the ones that go not in a straight line, but meander like an explorer’s.
The ones that go up to a snowman, make several circles around him, now indistinguishable, and eventually lead away from him.
The ones that traipse innocently into a puddle of snow-ice-slush, then emerge muck-filled on the other side.
The ones that abruptly appear atop snow-capped rocks, and disappear without warning, as you hop on and off the slippery walls.
The ones that are so endearingly small, only for a season though.
The ones that finally disappear into a snow angel, now so exhausted from all the play I must scoop you into my arms and carry you home.
Too bad your boots leave no prints on air.