Crows fly overhead. Snow falls on my face when I look up at them. A yellow park truck comes down the path, carrying a cargo of sand. We cut up the path toward home--while the border collie would prefer to go all the way around the lake, sniffing everything, stopping to feel the cool air on his face, I don't have that kind of time.
On the way back, a train rattles past, filled, no doubt, with freight and hobos. A woman in a blue parka stands at the bus stop and reads a paperback book. She waves, and I want to call across the mounds of snow, "What are you reading?" but instead I just wave back.
A school bus, a crow, snow on the pine boughs, my toes pleasantly cold inside their boots. And an aging border collie in red shoes trots along at my side, slipping now and then but never falling, and every now and then barking gruffly at nothing at all.