The first night’s efforts of a winter storm and cold spell left snowdust on our mudroom porch.
In that early morning snowdust were tracks.
Tracks from someone who had been up even earlier that I.
The tracks carried rhythm.
The tracks carried music.
The tracks held a moment in time, as does a photograph.
There were rhythms in the marks and spaces.
In our last picture, the snow is a matrix.
Snowless cracks between boards break the picture into three parts.
Three groups of tracks, from three different bird motions, impress the snow.
A footprints haiku in the snow.