Tracks

View from upstairs bathroom
Looking out the window this morning, I was struck by how the animal tracks had grown. The rows of circles melted in the snow are not features of the terrain, or the work of humans. They are marks of habit—the deer and squirrels that live in my backyard usually take the same route as they go about their business leaving small tracks.

Over time, it becomes less and less clear what sort of tracks they are, and they sprawl and dissipate in ways that lose all resemblance to their original motives and forms. Forensically determining their anatomy and traversals becomes more difficult as time passes.

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