Marking a Trail
Miles from home.
Raining in the late afternoon,
the drops morphing into cold sleet.
Autumn in New England.
The ground is not frozen yet,
with each step my shoes sinking deeper.
Behind me the trail is marked,
the indentations of my sneakers
stark reminders of my existence
for as far back as the eye can see.
In Utah such tracks have survived
a hundred million years,
grazing hadrosaurs whose five-toed tracks
are partially obscured by the
three-toed dagger prints of a hungry T-Rex.
Looking behind me I wonder if my tracks will survive
a hundred million years -
and will a future wanderer notice them?
Will he also notice the overlapping
tracks of my predator?