Feathers of ice are forming on the pond by the old shed. I can see my breath in the icy air that makes my nose cold and red. My feet are numb inside my boots and woolen socks. They feel heavy, like large cinder blocks. I trudge around the pond as if on a mission. My lashes feel frozen as I think of contrition. Where can he be? I shouldn't have let him go out. My dog of twelve is old, but stout. Over there, now I see him under a bush. I rush to his side and give him a gentle push. He gets up and shakes himself off, to follow me back to the house. I lead him in where he lies down in front of the fire, as quiet as a mouse. He is too old to wander out alone in the cold and winter clime. I won't let him out alone again, as his fur is too grayed by old Father Time. ~ © Phyllis Ann (Starbird55@msn.com) ~ November 18, 2003 If you enjoyed this page, check these out: My Favorite Flower Sledding A Christmas Carol One Christmas Eve Her Lost Song Snowflake Dances And.......for many others, click the link for HOME. Home: Writers' Corner Index