The Footprints of Ghosts

A winter morning's contemplation of the impermanence of all of these beautiful things.

The morning snow squalls whipped around me, and I pulled my coat tighter, as I stood on the corner of a rural central Pennsylvania road waiting for my bus. The good news is that the light is coming earlier these days; my short walk to meet the 7 a.m. bus is not undertaken in darkness anymore. For safety's sake, for esthetics' sake, I am glad for the light.

The winds picked up and it turned into a mini blizzard. Snowing sideways, I noted. Not good weather for pictures. And my time was limited: an early meeting meant that my morning photographic jaunt on campus would have to be an ultra-speedy one. And the sideways snow would have to stop.

I got my wish. By the time I got to campus, the mini blizzard had ended. It had seemed that it was snowing like crazy, but the result was just a skiff on the ground. Something less than an inch. And it was soft, fluffy snow. The kind that the winter winds love. And so it snowed. And then the winds picked it up and blew it all around - tiny whirling snow devils, just above the ground.

I paid a quick visit to West Halls, which is one of the prettiest of the dormitories on campus. The buildings look old and stately, and they are laid out in a lovely, symmetrical fashion. I've already posted two shots to Blip that show just small pieces of this area: a summer triptych of the view into West Halls, and a shot of the autumn colors there after one of our first snows.

On this particular morning, the snow had fallen, and the students had walked on it on the way to their 8 a.m. classes, pressing the snow down into the shapes of white footprints. Then the winds whipped up and removed all of the surrounding snow that hadn't been pressed down, leaving a charming pattern of white footprints on the pavement.

These many snowy days, out and about with my camera, I've had such fun playing with monochrome shots. There is something about the stark whiteness of all this snow that seems to demand it. I adore the shapes of winter trees because the winter gets down to the bare bones of things. Monochrome photo shoots seem to feed that part of my brain that sees and processes the lines, the light, the shadows.

Another cool thing that mono does is that it removes many of the markers of time. It swaps the pretty colors and the specifics of the here and now for a more timeless feeling. This shot could have been taken on this campus 50 or 100 years ago. It could have been taken 50 years in the future, presuming the buildings stand that long (and there's no reason to think they shouldn't).

I myself am fully cognizant of my place in time. I know that my moment, this one precious life that is mine, is just a bubble in time, set against a much longer timeline that I didn't see the beginning of and that I won't see the ending of. I cherish my pretty little bubble, though. I inhabit it with all of my heart and soul and mind.

The footprints will be gone when the sun comes. They will not last. (What does?)

And so, thinking earnest thoughts about the impermanence of all of these beautiful things, I contemplated the footprints in the snow in my black-and-white winter world. And they looked to me like the footprints of ghosts.

And on this cold winter morning, my mind and my heart were full. Of remembrances of those who have walked this ground before me. Of thoughts of those who will walk it long after I am gone. And with a wistful sigh for what lies in between: that one day the ghost footprints will be mine . . . just a memory that vanishes in the sun.

I cherish my moment in time.

The song: Stevie Nicks, Ghosts.