Footprints in the Forest

by Catlyn Ladd

COMING WINTER 2024

When I find the footprints it feels like fate. Like I knew they would be there.

I kneel, feeling the cold ground through my snow pants, and place my fingers in the icy impression. The print of the sole crumbles beneath my fingertips. I look at the icy residue on my mitten. Standing, I place my own boot next to the print. It’s the same size. I begin to follow the tracks through the wood.

It is eerily silent. Of course, there’s no animal sounds in winter but often I hear geese calling, wind in the branches, the crunch of snow and leaves underfoot. Now there’s nothing.

The tracks lead me down into a hollow and up the ridge on the other side. With the leaves off the trees visibility is good, especially with the light from the lowering sky reflected off the snow. I am not cold, though I feel the air on my face.

In the distance, a dog barks and my heart leaps. I know that bark. “Beck!” I call. Then, when the bark comes again, I call even louder. My dog Beck has been with me since I was seven, my companion and protector. Sometimes he runs off to track an interesting scent but he always circles back and finds me.

I stop, listening. But he does not bark again.