on this starless night, when the mercury reads minus thirty on
a snow-capped thermometer, through a thin, brittle sheet of frost-bitten
Inside, the heat from the gas stove radiates around an unplugged Christmas tree, still be-decked with ribbons and bows, as if to defy having suffered any recent neglect. Scenes of Australia claim the TV screen. People sweating despite turned up shirt sleeves, survive heat waves over asphalt, in front of a backdrop of wallaby road signs and sun-baked countryside.
Sam, our fourteen year old dog, a breed to himself, resembles a small fine-boned Golden Lab. He walks the floor. He senses the sub-zero night even if we've almost managed to convince ourselves otherwise. Sam's counterpart, Shadow, alias "Fluffy" the miniature poodle, plants her head into the afghan that drapes off the end of the recliner while the rest of her four-legged mop flops from side to side in an attempt to burrow herself in deeper, and I sit here writing.
I could carve, but that would mean having to brave minus thirty to get to the shop when this pen and paper is so immediately handy - and what I want to express can be recognized this way also........ afterglow.
To those who have contributed to the "Woodcarver's E-zine", the one I've just read tonight along with all the others, THANK YOU for some warmth.