onsdag, mars 05, 2008

Hound

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.