Impressions

Thoughts about outer masks and innermost selves

Thick, sturdy boots
- too big for me -
moulded into fearless troops,
accustomed to mud, forest, scrambles,
(to seeking)
trudge onward,
through the persistent snow
- ever frosty, ever untelling, ever before us -
onward,
leaving their prints for only keen observers
- but whose impressions do they leave;
mine, or theirs?
Or is that the same thing?