Tracks in the Snow

I spent much of this snowy day writing and as I became aware of the mounting snow outside, I found myself remembering a winter poem from my childhood.

“Tracks in the Snow” by Marchette Chute.

In my memory I’m in grade one, and it’s winter, and the poem is something we’re required to memorize. Unfortunately, that is where the memory ends for the rest of the poem eludes me and I am left with nothing but a title and the author’s name. Thus is the reality of our memories, for many of them are vague and distorted, filled with gaps that we sometimes fill in ourselves with whatever seems to make sense at the time. Forget the fact that we do not always remember things the way they happened, to us the memories feel very real.

So, unable to remember any of the words to the poem in question, I turned to the all-knowing Internet and spent some time searching for this beloved poem. Eventually, I had to admit that I was wasting valuable time chasing after a memory over half a century old.

I went back to juggling edits for the final interior of The Family Way and work on A Sure Cure for Witchcraft that needs to ready for the ARCs to be printed in April.

And as we finalize the edits for my next book, I can’t help thinking how grateful I am for this journey I’m on and how. for so many years, it felt as though I was chasing an impossible dream.

I look out at the snow hanging heavy on the trees outside my window and I quickly remind myself that dreams do come true.  I may never be able to track down this beloved poem from my childhood, and quite possibly the memory is not all what I remember it to be. But who knows, perhaps one day someone who has the words to Tracks in the Snow by Marchette Chute will stumble across this blog post and reach out to me, because dreams to come true and I refuse to give up even on snowy winter days in January.


How are you spending this wintry January Day?

The Balance

Today I’ll be attending a third funeral in a little over a week. Death is a part of life. I have to remind myself of that. It helps sometimes, brings comfort when the person who is taken from us lived a long and full life.

Birth. Death. Joy. Sorrow. There is a balance to everything.

This reminder doesn’t always help. Not when a childhood friend is suddenly taken away.

I found myself grieving; not only for this friend, but also for the forgotten childhood memories that came suddenly back to life.

The community I live in is changing with the times. The number of life-long residents is dwindling as our young people go off to live their own lives and our seniors pass away. Fortunately, new people are moving in all the time. Without them the community might one day cease to exist.

To every thing there is a season; a time and a purpose

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