Making Tracks

Out for my walk this morning the falling snow was covering all of the old tracks with a fluffy white blanket.  So quiet, I could almost hear the big snow flakes as they touched down. 

There is something about making the first prints in the new snow that always gives me pause and pleasure.  Looking ahead was a clean untracked expanse marked out by irregular tufts of prairie grass.  Behind, the past was marked by my solitary boot tracks  accompanied stride for stride by singular holes made by my walking stick. 

A  memory of long ago came unbidden but welcome nonetheless.   I believe it was during my first winter in Montana having moved from Phoenix AZ. I was driving along the Yellowstone River between Columbus and Park City one cold, bright winter night with gentle snow still falling.  The country road  was untracked.  The big snow flakes reflected my headlights back so much that I turned on only the parking lights.  I was at peace . . .

Having arrived at Tagawa Gardens I headed back up the creek on a different path marked with other tracks.  I turned off the main trail and met myself going out.  Same solitary boot tracks  accompanied stride for stride by singular holes. 

Looking back over the years since that winter of 1973-74 and remembering some of the many tracks I have made, it occurs to me now that on that winter drive, I was making a new track in the Intermountain West the area which I would come to love and in which I would find and be found by the love of my life, my wife and partner of 32 years.