Fleeting Footprints in the Sand

Walking so very slowly on the soft, damp sand,

feeling its graininess gently, giving way,

as I forge firm new footprints by the frothy surf,

on this early, sunny Florida Friday morning.

 

I behold all the beach’s other Footprints

preceding, succeeding, and surrounding me,

as I stare at my freshly formed footprints,

Paralleling the softly lapping waves.

 

Some prints live, perhaps too close to the edge,

collapsing quickly, in the caressing waves.

Others have chosen to walk the middle path,

lasting a bit longer, but crumbling still.

 

Infinite other footprints cross the dry sand,

shifting and sliding, as the gentle breeze blows,

enduring briefly, then, disintegrating-

Obliterated as if they never lived at all.

 

I walk, pondering life’s purpose and meaning.

These footprints we form so fastidiously.

Footprints of the strong and weak, the rich and poor,

wise and foolish – all fading with the rising tide.

 

Max’s phone message, drained from pain, comes to mind.

I think of Ann, hoping to see her once more,

wondering what could I say, to ease her suffering.

Did her Footprints make any difference?

 

The answer comes with the flash of the morning sun,

skipping and streaming, on the emerald water.

Ann’s footprints are the way she led her life

and all she loved, left, and those who loved her.

 

Strong and sure impressions, carved with conviction,

Ann’s steps were boldly exploring life’s mysteries.

With a loving heart and inquiring mind,

Ann’s life was touching all those around her.

 

Footprints, like memories, never really fade.

Her Footprints like those coming before and after

rest, patiently and pliantly, beneath the sand,

easing the path, for those coming tomorrow.

 

Suddenly, I knew she was listening.         

Norman F. Estrin

 

(Conceived August 18, 1995, written August 20, 1995)