Footsteps in the Snow

A Philip Larkin poem for this ween’s theme (thanks to Urszula for suggesting it). It is a bit of a melancholy poem but I think it is beautiful.

Morning At Last: There in the Snow
Philip Larkin

Morning at last: there in the snow
Your small blunt footprints come and go.
Night has left no more to show,

Not the candle, the half-drunk wine,
Or touching joy; only this sign
Of your life walking into mine.

But when they vanish with the rain
What morning woke to will remain
Whether as happiness or pain.

Prompt: Urszula was given the idea from seeing goose and duck prints. Animal or human tracks is one way to go but you could also write about walking in the snow, or use snow as a metaphor. We have looked at it before but this seems like a good time to revisit Robert Frost’s, Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening:

Whose woods these are I think I know.   
His house is in the village though;   
He will not see me stopping here   
To watch his woods fill up with snow.   

My little horse must think it queer   
To stop without a farmhouse near   
Between the woods and frozen lake   
The darkest evening of the year.   

He gives his harness bells a shake   
To ask if there is some mistake.   
The only other sound’s the sweep   
Of easy wind and downy flake.   

The woods are lovely, dark and deep,   
But I have promises to keep,   
And miles to go before I sleep,   
And miles to go before I sleep.

7 thoughts on “Footsteps in the Snow

  1. Melting Moments

    Dancing in the snow, Simon below my window. Bundled up in woollen coat and college scarf with a bottle of wine and a bunch of flowers.
    “Mad fool! ” I laugh, leaning out onto the icy sill.
    He sings for me to come out and join him. Snow white sparkles shining all around him.
    I’m quick to grab my jumper and hat and throw on my coat. Boots pulled on. I rush downstairs.
    The air hits me. Cold and crusty. Biting my cheeks like a harsh kiss.
    Simon pushes the bottle into the deep bank of snow and hands me the flowers.
    I throw them, scattered all over the white canvas. Colours mix. A masterpiece of impulse.
    We fall back sitting, onto the bank of snow and pop the cork. A bead of ruby rolls between us as we sip from the emerald bottle glinting in the moon light.
    “What’s the occasion?” I ask.
    “S’now occasion.” he laughs. “Just you and I and our butt prints in the snow! ”
    “Fair enough.” I smile. “I suppose it will all be gone in the morning. ”

    Cathy Macleod.

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  2. Footsteps in the Snow

    I opened the bedroom curtains and found
    A bright whiteness covering the grass
    When I went out of the front porch there it was
    The drive covered with smooth white snow
    No marks or footsteps to be seen

    I stepped out gently but it was not slippy
    The snow crunched underfoot and
    I carried on walking down the drive
    We turned and walked down the road
    With cats and dog behind my neighbour and me

    The road had grey tyre marks from the cars
    Parallel marks for miles
    So it was easy for us to walk but
    Move across onto the grass to avoid
    The odd car coming up or down the road

    At the bottom of the hill we turned
    To walk back home
    We followed the dog and cat paw prints in the snow
    And back up the hill we went

    When we got to my drive
    We saw lots of footsteps
    Some human but mostly
    Large geese backward and foreward
    Slightly smaller duck ones
    Lots of those made by hens and cockerels

    The smooth white snow now
    Becoming a slushy grey
    Which will probably freeze overnight
    Become slippy and dangerous
    But that’s for another day

    Urszula

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  3. Footprints in the Snow

    You go to the window to look outside
    And see that the snow has arrived
    You notice the footprints around the tree
    And think to yourself well that was not me .
    You get dressed quickly to get outside
    Its time for you to get your footprints down
    Before someone comes along and they are found.

    The sky is all white now more snow is to come
    And cover all our footprints
    So they are never found
    Well next you look at the ground
    The footprints are there
    Where the children run round.
    The children will grow
    But the footprints are there whenever I see snow.

    By donna keenan

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  4. Thanks, Donna. Apologies to Donna and to everyone for the lateness in posting this. Some emails went astray but it is really great to see Donna’s contributions are back!

    Spencer

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