In the first heavy snow
of the season, perhaps
agitated by a full November moon,
lured by the call of the wild
so natural to her husky breed,
As I donned my winter garb and
searched for her, all tracks were
obliterated by light, fleecy flakes.
Robins not yet flying south
were noncommittal. A migration
of geese cried out overhead
obliviously. Still, I knew
Blondie would curl up shyly
at the back door.
On the third day,
I buried my arthritic hands
in the soft fur of her neck.
Large, almond eyes measuring love
looked at me, reassuring
all was with good reason.
Thursday, March 2, 2017
SHY BLONDIE by Patricia Crandall
By Patricia Crandall
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