Aimless memories

Finding myself restless and lonely one summer’s evening I set out from my cabin to gather kindling for the wood stove.
I wandered toward the stream and distant woods in no hurry and without any direct path in mind.

My foot brushed a wildflower, and I stopped and peered at the delicate pink bloom, so small, so bright.

Continuing my journey, I plodded slowly to the little stream, and sitting on its bank watched the little dances of life and death played out between the trout and the mayflies.
A fish flashed in the little riffle, and I knew it was a brook trout by the white slash on its fins.
I smiled and went on my uncertain way.

Past the stream and approaching the woods, I was startled by a grouse that must have been happy and safe under his little bush, only to have me come along and spoil his tranquillity.

I sniffed the pine-scented air deliciously.

The gently fading light was greeted by the distant howl of a coyote, and I knew it was time to return home.

I ambled back deep in thought about nothing.

Back in front of the fire with my pipe, I remembered what I had forgotten. My little trip was purposeless, and I had failed in my gathering of kindling. I had brought nothing back with me.
Or had I?

After a bit of thought, I knew that I had gathered memories.
I had hunted without a gun and fished without a rod.
I had taken beauty back with me, and left nothing but footprints.