Ode to Winter

The snow is relentless in its plan to cover its older cousins; cars slide from the highways, traffic backs up and events are cancelled. I was supposed to go a birthday lunch—Hu Hot! One of those places where you select all the increments of a stir fry  and some athletic chef prepares it. Instead, it was oatmeal for breakfast and probably lunch, too. The need to go shopping becomes paramount in this ceaseless white-out.

The little dog next door is quiet, not wanting to draw attention to himself and be put out in it to pee. In the nice weather, he will bark incessantly wanting to go out. The neighborhood should use the today’s earmuffs to protect their sensibilities in the warm days to come.

The only things missing from my lovely view is a fast running stream with built-up ice floes on the edges, singing over rocks and branches to end in the beaver pond, now a snow castle. Inside, the babies are warm, and mom and dad escape their continuous keening for food by going out the tunnel for more stock from the larder prepared in the fall.

Instead of that bucolic site, I listen for the mail and prepare to face the cold for the few moments it takes me to slough my way to the boxes. That poor guy has to ride around with his door open.