I got squirrels. Lots of them. And it’s my own fault. I feed them peanuts all winter. So why would they leave?
My daughter pointed to some tracks in the snow the other day and asked what kind of animal left them.
“Squirrel,” I answered without looking.
“How do you know? You didn’t even look,” she challenged.
“Do you see any wolves or mountain goats around here?” I asked. “Look in that tree,” I said as I pointed to a family of squirrels playing tag in the branches above us.
Now had I been Ranger Rick, I could have looked at those tracks she pointed to on the ground and known what animal left them without just making an educated guess. I’m not Ranger Rick.
It got me thinking about tracks, though. You can’t walk over snow without leaving tracks. The snow creates a little map of where you started and where you went. Snow can melt, blow around, and pile up again. The tracks aren’t permanent. They last as long as the weather stays unchanged.
It made me wonder about the tracks I made in life the previous day. If someone were to look at the marks I made, what would they know about me? Did I help someone? Did I listen and offer support? Did I bring a smile to someone’s face? Did I make the life of another person a little better, a little richer?
Or maybe yesterday I had a bad day and stomped the snow hard. What would those tracks say about me? Did I anger anyone? Did I cause someone fret, frustration or worry? Did I help create some new frown lines on the face of another? Did I make someone’s load heavier by adding to his stress?
That was yesterday. The day came, and I walked on it. And I left tracks.
But today is a new day. What kind of tracks can I leave today?
How about you? What tracks are you going to leave today?