ok, not precisely hail, if we’re going for accuracy. it was what’s (fondly?) called “a wintry mix.” don’t be deceived by that name — i know it sounds like something you’d have at a christmas party: pretzels, chex, peanuts, chocolate, ya know. but no, no, no. this party mix is made up of sleet, ice, rain, hail, snow, and anything else the sky feels to add in. they call it wintry mix to make you feel better about the fact that you have to be out and about in what the rest of the world calls “utterly inclement weather.” but it’s not as bad as a blizzard. and to this i can honestly attest, because i walked through the wintry mix today. fortunately, a proper snowfall had preceded my morning walk, so the scenery was more or less lovely (the yards were covered in white, and i decided to be in denial about the greyish-brown mud-snow-slush nastiness that was in the roads and along some sidewalks).

i walk down putnam avenue and memorial drive in the mornings — putnam is residential and memorial is along the charles river — and as i meandered along putnam this morning i was strangely delighted by the smattering of footprints i was walking through — small ones, large ones, dogs ones and some that looked like good old-fashioned snow shoes. it was a funny fellowship: the footprints of people i’ll never be able to identify interrupted by my own too-familiar ones.

when putnam hits river street, i cross over (en route to memorial drive), and i walk through a little neighborhood park (memorial is on the other side of the park) that was particularly lovely this morning. the grounds were covered in the fresh snow, and as i left the sidewalks and the community of footprints i had been a part of and ventured onto the field of untouched snow, i basked in the idea that i was walking where no one else had yet been today.

a few yards later, however, my footprints collided with another set — larger and indelibly imprinted in my mind. i was reminded of Robinson Crusoe’s great literary moment (perhaps the greatest of all) of seeing the footprint on the island — and i, too, was reminded that, actually, in the human experience, we are never on uncharted territory, and we are not really alone.

and then the loud honks of bostonian drivers on memorial drive brought that little reminder home amid brown-mud-snow-slush splashes.