It’s one of those cold (-25), northern winter days when the sun is so bright it cuts your eyes. The snow has smoothed the edges of the rocks. They look like rolling hills, rolling through snow and shadow, snow and shadow, under trees and away.
Princess runs down the road and I yell at her to come back. She’s the kind of dog who thinks a command is a suggestion. She ignores me. All I can see is the curl of her tail, bouncing behind the snow bank of the side of the road. I use my serious COMMAND VOICE and she comes back leaping with happiness. I wish I could be that unapologetically joyful.
For the first time this year I feel the barest hint of warmth in the sun. There is the promise of spring under the snow.
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