Sunday, January 25, 2015

Class Concerns

The dog walks across the icy meadow like she's at sea, each step considered carefully before placing a tense, testing paw. The white of the field, criss-crossed by countless boot- and paw-prints, still manages to almost blind even after we put our sunglasses on.

A smaller terrier tears past, chasing after a ball flung by his owner across the expanse, and our dog stops and stares off into the middle distance with a vacant, thoughtful look, as if trying to ignore such a blatant disregard of decorum.

The terrier's return starts her from her reverie, and she shies away at the unwanted sociability and trots after us, fears of slippery ice forgotten in her haste to get away.

No comments:

Post a Comment