The first snow of the season, and I’m so happy to spend the day lying in snow, licking snow, treading through snow, sleeping in snow. But, Joan thinks I’ll get frost bite. Frost bite! I’m a dog, you know. (She forgets. La vecchiaia è corogna.)
Usually, the snow lies still over the sleeping grass of winter, but this time, it settles on the fallen leaves. And the leaves are trapped and don't know what to do with themselves; so they tremble and wave their yellow fingers just above the white shroud.
Shane doesn’t really like the snow. This morning, he ran out the door as usual, and then he stopped when he discovered that the ground had turned white and cold. He always does things like that. You know, he leaps before he looks. Then, he wants to go back and do it all over again the right way. But, by then, it’s too late.
Best wishes, Juno
No comments:
Post a Comment