Something lovely about walking in wellington boots across my field and garden this time of year. You can see where I have been and how high I lift my feet by the darker green trail trail left in the grass where I have unsettled the dew. It is as distinctive as seeing birds’ feet in the snow and the tracks of the fox.
I also see that I never walk in a straight line. If I were a writer I might take that as an analogy of life or as Longfellow said, ‘footprints in the sands of time‘. Whatever we do we leave a mark. As much on peoples’ minds as on the ground.