This Moment: 6:49 P.M. March 5, 2012

The old dog has settled herself near the living room couch. She is panting long after we have returned from our evening walk down the lane. Light is fading fast. A car races up the street, it's lights flashing briefly as it passes. Muted music from upstairs assaults with its heavy pounding. I think to turn on the satellite Blues, but the swoosh of passing cars paired with the steady downbeat, and punctuated by house sounds and the dogs snorts create a music of it's own. Today is the first day I've felt the world come back to life. Snow is still on the horizon, but I refuse to acknowledge this, today. I look up and it is suddenly dark. The dogs are up at the door barking at a phantom guest. Then, I hear them at their bowls, lapping water. The small dog reenters the room and sniffs the rugs, finds an appropriate spot, then lies down, paws curled under his small body. The old dog has settled near the threshold on hard tile. A strange choice. A mistletoe ball still hangs from the front hall entry light. Funny that I just noticed this. A plane's backwash fills the air with a mournful vibration. I wonder where the people inside are going. I wonder what it is that they want. And also, a strange thought: what happens to their thoughts as they pass overhead. I see an image of thought after thought falling like rain, catching in the tree branches like detritus during a windstorm. A train passes through town. And now more cars. Where all hurrying somewhere. The old dog raises herself and her nails scratch the tile on her way to the food bowl. She enters the room, limping slightly like an old man without his cane. I inhale deeply and both dogs raise their heads, fully awake and expectant, ready to follow my lead.