One day when I grow up I will still be five feet and maybe two inches. Probably less. One day when I grow up I might not be able to wear Buster Browns nor have the shoe store clerk in the children’s department look around for my child. One day when I grow up I will not flail my arms trying to reach items on the top grocery store shelf…or the second shelf in my own cabinets. One day when I grow up I will probably have forgotten more than I knew when I was a child.

Would the one who left the print, seeing my own print, stop and remember what it would be like one day if he or she could be a child? Would the ponder be reversed from ‘one day when I grow up’ to ‘one day when I’m a child again’? Would he or she know the maker of the print had left prints for 248 seasons and was not a child?

A simple scrich provoked by simple footprints. Yet I have found in simplicity the sweetest whispers. As I walk this earth what gift of remembrance will my footprints leave? One day, when I have grown inward to myself and outward to others, time, like the candle wax will yield to the dancing flame.