Freshly fallen snow. I woke up to a world covered in white. Immediately I threw on a pair of jeans and sweatshirt and walked to my new coffee place for a French toast bagel and, of course, coffee.
As I walked down the sidewalk, I stepped in those footprints left by someone who had arisen before myself. It's easier to walk in someone's else prints. Snow drifts don't catch you by surprise. You can't disturb the sugar that's still so crisp and angelic surrounding the markings left by another soul.
After I picked up the coffee and bagel, I turned off the main street and ventured on the side streets. Here no-one had been. Snow undisturbed. I walked along the street admiring the smoothness and reflected light of the whiteness.
I remembered Frost's words, "the road not taken". I was on that road and yet no-one would know that I had been here. I left no marks. With that haunting my head, I hopped onto the sidewalk and the fresh snow.
My footprints came out of nowhere. Pure snow and then snowboot prints. I left my trail. The snow keeps the memory of my path. The prints are also there in case someone needs a place to walk.