sunless,
hoar frosted trees barely visible
in the ice fog;
- 10°C, with a wind chill
almost double that.
"Socked in" as
the old tyme flyers would say.
By lunch time
Miss Sadie was vocally bored,
and insisted on playing
in the fresh winter air.
And so we did.
Her frozen toy
stung my hands.
Even Her Ladyship
found it cold in her mouth.
Undeterred,
she ran to wherever it landed,
and galloped it back —
a flowing keyboard
of black on white
in the frigid yard.
While overhead,
the gutter ravens,
having moved south for the winter,
cried to one another.
Now, Sadie calmly sleeps
in her favourite chair,
by the warm stove,
awaiting another run,
latter on, perhaps,
not knowing the forecast
is for freezing rain,
which will make everything
treacherous,
for travel,
or even play
in our sanctuary.
