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Finally the snow has come - a dump of powder that
reaches up to my knees.
The border collie, Gyspy, notes that I am dressing
for a walk, stretches, then pushes her nose against
my calf. She's herding me toward the door.
We are the first to walk on Whitemud Creek. November's
wreckage of dead leaves, bare twigs and fallen trees
have been transformed, blanketed in white, pillowy
contours. The poplars are sugar coated.
We walk several hours, then climb from the creek
to a sidewalk. A commuter road nearby. Rush hour!
Like caterpillars, the cars inch along. Yellow fumes
enshroud these gas-guzzlers. I try not to breathe.
Most have but one occupant. Shadowy forms, like
a war zone.
George W. Bush's recent statement that "the
Kyoto agreement on the environment is dead,"
comes to mind.
Billboard: World Wrestling Match, 6:00 p.m., The
Battle of the Century! Corporate George versus Planet
Earth.
No use, I can't laugh.
I pass a church, hear singing, pause a moment to
enjoy the music.
churchyard -
spruce trees sag under the weight
of pure white snow
Gypsy nudges me again, toward home, her food bowl
waiting.
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