The lane was white. Snow had fallen in the nite. The air was silent, freezing, alive. The first tracks I saw belonged to fox. His footprints ran alongside the ditch filled with ice water. He headed straight up the hill. I set my prints down next to his. His tracks veered to the centre of the lane and then over to the opposite side. Had he stopped to inhale a scent beneath the snow? He crossed the lane again returning to his original path.
Further up another set of tracks began.
Rabbit? I couldn’t imagine rabbit strolling alongside Mr Fox for an early morning chat. I presumed the tracks were laid down at different times.
More and different tracks! The weight of squirrel on its back legs that made a clear imprint, the front paws gently resting and scuffing the white surface. Little hands rather like mine.
Bigger tracks. Hare? The most elusive and mysterious of creatures. Even the mark it left behind a morning gift.
The deeper tracks of the heavy badger, her tracks disappearing into the hedge and under the wire of fence. Anisodactyl, the star shape of bird’s foot, the trail of her tail feathers sweeping after. Tracks that I could not put a name to. Small creatures looking for food and warmth.
A flurry of tracks, pointing this way and that, hither and thither. The tracks of two souls. Had fox found someone to dance with in the dawn light?
And then the white snow stained. I think I can see the shape of a rabbit in the redness? More likely though a small bird who had landed to rest for a moment.
Fox’s tracks continue. Spots of red bright in the white snow.
My own tracks vanish as the snow falls.
