John is still awaiting his computer’s return. Here is his newest short item, inspired by the upcoming weather where we live, among other things. Who knows where it will go from here.

On a chilly winter’s morn, the cloud descended around them. Anne let the leash out long, giving Max freedom to sniff and explore. Footsteps left prints in the still shallow snow. Soon enough, walking down the hill, they dropped below the mist into flurries. Snow floated this way and that, bobbing like a multitude of tiny corks on the sea. Snow nearly lighter than air as they descended grew heavy on their return. Filled footprints left no trace of the journey down. Will they get the prediction right this time; seven to ten inches? Anne wondered, as Max frolicked in the snow, now off leash. He loved rooting for small branches lost in the white blanket, clamping them in furry jaws. Important to get that exercise now if the snow got heavy. His fun in the drifts meant warm water and towels―cleaning packed snow from between his toes. OK on a day with nothing of import to be done. Today wasn’t one of them.

She got the call just after lunch. A crash in foggy skies took Jason’s life. Max offered what solace he could, sitting at her feet, nose on her knee. He’s gone! I knew the day would come, but not so soon. On our 35th anniversary! There will be no more of them; no more days and nights with the love of my life. Rather than enjoying a winter’s day with Jason and Max she had work to do. In growing grief, Anne must plan in pain; plan a funeral and a memorial to Jason.

The forecasters had it nearly right this time; twelve, not ten inches. Temperatures dropped into the teens by evening as skies cleared. No melting expected. No visitors coming with food and comfort tonight or tomorrow. Anne had to cope on her own. She shared a sleepless night with Max who needed nearly as much comfort as he offered, a good thing.