It started as a huff. Then came the quiet whistle that slowly escalated into a soft whine. When that didn't work, he pulled back and then pushed out a long, low groan and several more whines.
This was not conducive to writing, which is what I was attempting half-heartedly to do when Wishbone decided he couldn't sit still in the house a moment longer. I looked over at those pleading eyes and realized that even if the kids were occupied, I wasn't going to get any more work done until the fur-kid had gotten this out of his system. So I bundled up and out we went.
At first we braced for the cold and walked with determination, stopping for a couple doggy breaks where we could see our breath released into the still air. Then there was a squirrel, which as every Jack Russell knows is as good as catnip to a half-crazed housecat. Finally we settled into a steady walk, beating out a rhythm between grey asphalt and grey skies. Even the birds were silent, as if waiting. And then it happened, suddenly--an easily explained trick of the eyes, perhaps.
But no, there was another, and another...snowflakes, more than the previous flurrying. These were the first real snowflakes this winter.
We continued down the road, both of us feeling a spring in our step as if there were a lightening in the air. As we drew parallel to a field, a horse galloped from behind some trees into view. He stopped short and gazed at us as we gazed back, a woman and her dog out for a brisk walk.
A brief gust of wind swirled snowflakes through his mane, and he shook his head and took off again, lifting his tail to trail majestically behind him as he frolicked in the falling snow. Parallel, we walked behind him, all of us feeling a lift of the spirits that was needed this dreary day.
Now we are back inside, warm and cozy as I take up writing about others' lives again and Wishbone curls contentedly into a snooze. The snow continues to fall, slowly coating the landscape in a fluffy blanket of white, clearing away the past for a time, and brightening the future.