No End in Sight

It is truly always winter and never Christmas here. There is ice and water on top of the ice. The snow that is left is hard like rocks on a Lake Superior beach. There is no sun, only fog and ever-present mist.

It is queer and old to complain about the weather. Especially if one takes pride in one’s hale and heartiness, which I do. And if one realizes that other folks are in a lot worse situations, like living in a tent in the junk jungle behind a neighborhood McDonald’s. That other people have it worse never seems to stop much complaining from the better off. And I would be ones of those – the better off.

The walk around the dog park this morning was slow and painstaking. Much of the path was ice so most of the dogs and their owners stayed in the central area and didn’t walk the paths. I have Yaktrax on my boots so I can walk on ice but I still envision falling when I hit an especially long patch of ice covered with a thin sheet of water. Would my dogs come back for me? Howl? Bark? Summon help?

They wouldn’t. They would trot on. I’d lie there until some other human tripped on me. It’s sad to think but it’s true. So much of our love for dogs is one way. Swirl, for instance, knows only about unconditional love, not reciprocity. Oh well.

I am in a headachy patch, but I know it won’t last. It never does.

I did see this deer leaping today which was a pretty amazing thing.