My footsteps here don't matter

I could write volumes about the hike I just took in the foothills of the Sandia Mountains, about 30 minutes from my home. These are the kind of stream-of-consciousness notes I jotted down while out there.

Decomposing leaf in stream becoming transparent

Cool breeze off stream
Granite is slippery when wet
Red willow branches

Water in many forms, snow, ice, running water

Many little channels in one stream

Stream disappears

The heat of my body, the chill of the air, the stream, the ice

True shapes

Snow that hasn't forgotten itself

My footsteps here don' t matter