onsdag, mars 05, 2008


My big white dog ran ahead of me about 30 yards, up to an older man who was walking alone through the park. It was just about 7 a.m., and exactly 15 degrees. Everything that morning seemed white, even the air. Still, I could tell that the man who had been kind enough to hold out his hand to my excitable puppy held her attention for only a second before she bounded off towards another moving figure further off.

When with quick paces and bent heads our paths came as close as they would to crossing, I said apologetically, "She's disappointed that you aren't a dog."

"Well, maybe in a little while ... ," he said in a deep voice, not breaking stride.

I haven't been able to stop thinking about him since.