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FOOTPRINTS
ON
THE SNOW
Footprints on the snow weakly enlightened by the moon. I would like to know
where they lead. I would like to know what do the traces write on the snow in
their monotonous repeating. And I start following the wavey line getting lost at
the horizon, to find its end and find out where the one was going, who had
written those traces in the snow. And who knows, perhaps I will also find out
what might he have been thinking while walking…
I know for sure that he has stopped at least once. Here, where the pair of
footprints is deeper than the others.
He may have stopped to think about
the long way calling him forward. Or he may have been looked behind. Behind,
towards his footprints that had already written in the snow the chosen
way. Or forward, towards the pure white field opening all possible ways to
choose among.
He may have been wondering which of
the infinite ways to choose… or he may have known from the very first which
one he would choose. Anyway, after the deeper footprints, their line was
more decided, clear and straight, without the hesitations of the past
footprints.
I may have been that traveller… since my steps fit exactly the footprints written
in the snow. But it must have been very long ago, since I don’t remember. Or
it may have been in a dream that has gone alone to look for its fulfilment,
since I had forgotten it upon waking up. But only the end of the way knows this
answer. That is why I will walk as long as the snow will guide my steps, looking
for the dream that, once found, I will not let go again.
But
my steps get lost when I am about to reach the end… My dream is near and
far… I can see it, but it is too far away for me to touch it. I can’t
advance towards it anymore, since the footprints get lost in the mist there, where
the snow has started melting away… and I won’t reach anymore the city where
it never snows.
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Romanian
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