Footprints on the Planks

I hopped off the gravel path and marched right onto the wooden footbridge crossing the pond! The timber planks were dusted with an unbroken layer of fresh powder. Stamp, stomp! Each step pressed a crisp impression into the snow—tiny leaf-shaped prints trailing behind me like a parade of spooky little goblins! Look at them marching in a neat line! ...The park fell suddenly hushed beneath the pale sky. Gentle white flakes drifted steadily down, settling into the hollows until the prints began blurring back into smooth white nothing. My plastic feet don't leave roots anywhere. But I gave the railing a festive tap and kept marching anyway.