Footprints in the Snow

Robert Burn's poem "To a Mouse" is one of Jami's favorites. It contains the phrase "the best laid planes of mice and men." Burns uses the disruption of a mouse's home under the turf by a plowman to meditate on the common fate of mice and humanity, as well as on the travails of nature - the poor mouse has gathered its winter provisions at a great cost of time, only to experience devastation at an inopportune moment. Burns concludes that the mouse and he share a common fate, albeit as a human his knowledge of this fate doesn't allow him to live comfortably in the moment (both past and future loom over him with their dangers and uncertainties) while the mouse is blessed --"the present only toucheth thee." The mouse can enjoy the moment, even in disaster. The mouse must have read Ecclesiastes, and in its natural state proclaims the truth that unnecessary toil and extreme regret are vanity, and that God requires that we make the most of each moment. In Reformed theology we might say that in each moment we are to glorify God and enjoy God forever.
Last year, at this time, we were honeymooning in London, and we visited a bookstore at Charing Cross, where on one shelf, Jami found a tiny 19th century copy of Burns poem. It was so tiny that it might have belonged to the "Wee Sleeket Cowran Timirous Besatie" of the poem. In fact the bookstore owner, who reminded me of Richard Blake, our librarian at Columbia, did his best to persuade Jami to purchase the book, saying, "don't you care for the wee sleeket beastie?"
I recalled the poem as we went snow shoeing yesterday. Our guide, Taylor, pointed out where a bird, perhaps a hawk, had landed. In the photo above you can see the impression it made on diving, crashing into the snow's crisp crust, as well as the impressions made by its pinion feathers as it took off. On close inspection, and it's barely visible in the photos, tiny tracks lead to the depression. But these tracks also lead away. The wee sleeket cowran timirous beastie lives to forage another day.
I'm filled with joy that the beastie has made it. Its tiny prints delicate laid out in line across the snow. What a chance it took across this open ground, this exposure between sagebrush and tree root. Disaster has left its impression, but the wee sleeket has carried on.