Winter's Touch

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The snow, falling in fits,
arrives dressed in indistinguishable attire, cold to the touch.
Myriad flakes resemble one another from my window.
A hot fire burns in my wood stove, warming my emotions.
I think of her again, recall her smile and grace, which resembles snow flakes dancing in mid-air.
My hound stretches himself out on the couch,
he twitches spasmodically as dreams prance through his head.
I often wonder what it is that dogs dream about.
Playing catch in the yard?
A tasty rawhide bone?
Or the cute bitch next door?
Like a passing train, the tea kettle whistles its tune.
I sip my hot tea, lounge back into my recliner and
glance at the snow falling outside.
When it warms they will become a distant memory,
forgotten, melted away like the dreams of her.
My hound yawns and I drift away like a passing ship at sea.

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