I wore something warm, but not warm enough.
In the west, the sky was red or orange or rose--something in that vein--at 10:30 p.m. What's that? we asked ourselves. Was it wind or traffic we heard, or was there a beating of rotors out there? was that light sweeping across the sky?
The dog gallivanted. He raced ahead, dove deep into the yards we passed, turned back on us to play.
The snow is supposed to arrive at midnight. At midnight, there is supposed to be snow.
When I started my run tonight, it was downright balmy. By the time I got home, the wind had changed. I should have layered.ReplyDelete
Something wicked (or at least wicked cold) this way comes.ReplyDelete
And snow there was--at least up here in the Aves. Just heard there probs won't be snow for Christmas, though. BOO!ReplyDelete
Lisa - I love this small poem. It's made a small sacred peaceful space in my mind - magic!ReplyDelete