This is the time of winter when you need to keep in mind how changeable all things are. The light is different every day and so is the nature of the cold. You may want to lie on top of the radiator and sleep until your IQ has become a negative number and you have the gumption of a furred covered bag of melted butter. But that is a cat's strategy. A little red dog must forge ahead and meet the day on its terms.
A few days ago I was walking along the river and heard deep burrrrr noises, like a giant owl reassuring a colossal nest of owlets. My Person and I stopped and looked for the source of this strange noise. Then an awful CRACK rang out and we both almost toppled in fright. A fissure appeared in the river ice, shooting straight out from the shore. I barked myself silly. Today the river is silent but the icy surface is like an old gray plate, scarred and crazed with use, ready to be cast aside as the river opens up to the sky once again. As we walked along we saw a flock of robins puffed against the cold into bright colored fluff balls. They are undaunted by winter and so am I.
Perhaps they know that the bumps on the frozen branches hold the beginnings of flowers.
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