A writing challenge for members of our message board was to write a poem using the title, "Tracks In The Snow".
If you would like to submit a poem for this title, send it to LaraOct7@aol.com



It was a cold winter day when Momma fox set out to find a new den for her kits.
Following behind her their little paws left tracks in the snow, as Momma was using all her wits.

Soon Momma fox found a nice dry cave for her little family and hid them safe away.
It was time for her to find their supper, find her prey.

Momma was leaving her tracks in the snow as she hunted for mice or other small game to make a meal to take home.
It wasn't long before she found what she was looking for as she began to roam.

Taking supper home to the babies was a normal thing for a Momma fox to do.
Just as we once provided for our young as wild game we did pursue.


Foxes have whiskers on both their legs and their faces. These help them find their way.
Fox cubs have short noses and resemble puppies when they are born.
A fox's eye appears to be green when light shines into them at night.
The fox's tail is called a brush, and it becomes thicker in the winter.
The fox does not chew. Instead it uses its carnassial, or shearing, teeth to cut meat into digestible chunks.


Tracks in the Snow

His rifle held at the ready,
Eyes intent on new-fallen snow,
From the tracks, he knew up ahead
The wounded deer started to slow.

There were drips of blood here and there,
A crimson trail against stark white.
Limbs sagged with snow everywhere,
The forest, a wonderful sight.

But the cold hunter turned blind eye
To nature’s beauty just then,
The ice-coated stream, the blue sky,
For he’d counted points, at least ten.

A ten-point buck, this time no doe.
Ah, the boasting that he would do,
To the guys at the Tally-ho,
All forced to buy brew after brew.

Every year they made that bet,
And he had never won before;
But this year he would be all set,
Time that he could even the score.

The droplets of red crossed the lake,
And the hunter followed along,
Careful now with each step he’d take
For the ice didn’t seem too strong.

In the near distance, he caught sight,
Of the single struggling stag,
With its white tail standing upright,
Its wounded leg it had to draq.

Then the hunter broke through the ice,
Where there’d been a lacework of cracks.
He surfaced one time and then twice –
His friends must now follow his tracks.


A Future Mayor

There were mysterious tracks
From the Mayor's back fence
To and from his boyhood pond,
Rectangles into woods dense.

The snow fell in silent heaps,
Piled high and deep and crusty,
At early dawn, his boy was gone,
That was the way with Rusty.

The mayor called heartily
From his back door staying warm,
Where is he now, he thought,
Hope he comes to no harm.

Then off he went to his council meeting,
With fleeting thoughts of Rusty,
Boys will be boys, he consoled himself.
(The ice was cold and crusty)

When he came home for lunch,
A hunch came into his political head
Those tracks didn't look like shoes to him
About them he began to dread.

So he followed many to and from the pond,
Found pride swelling in him along,
Found Rusty so smart, his feet were dry.
And rectangles on him had belonged.

Did I forget to say some boards that day
Had been ripped from the Mayor's privacy fence.
Rusty made for himself some stilts to play,
And sold more to his rectangle-foot friends.


Tracks in the Snow

Look over there! Tracks in the snow.
Hard to tell which way they go.
Think they go both forth and back,
Looks like there's more than one track.

Uh-Oh..this gets better and better.
Tracks are from that big old salt spreader.
And behind it, what do you say?..
Here comes the plow to push it away.

Just enough to melt it a bit,
Then the salt by the curb it will sit.
Now the road will turn to ice
But the salt truck don't come around twice!







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Silent Snow


A Woman Unknown

Haiku: Winter

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