This Moment: 7:27 December 3, 2011

The sounds of industry fill the morning. Everyone in a rush to do. I am resolute to be the opposite and remain firmly entrenched in this strange feeling that arrived yesterday once the wind and it's wrath were gone for good. Over four hundred trees felled in my city, more than a thousand in the city where I work. All of my trees are firmly rooted in their home ground. The snow that fell during the night looks like the salt rim on a margarita glass. Car after car speeds past my home. The little dog is in the kitchen ferreting through a paper sack he has pulled fom the trash. My husband is pouring another cup of coffee. I lean into the warmth of my pillows anticipating the cold of the hardwood floors. The small dog enters the bedroom, nose to the ground. He jumps on the bed and stands sentinel, eyes following each car. I ask him if it's time for a walk and he tips his head, whines a quick response. The old dog lifts her head, then settles back into her forepaws. Her breathing is troubled, like a smoker's these last few weeks. A plane overhead. Since the winds I haven't seen a single bird or heard their birdsong. Where are they? A man bundled in a yellow jack speeds down the sidewalk, followed by a woman, her dogs in pink jackets. My mood lifts instantly.