Dark. Dark and Cold. Cresting a hill through the trees I see the half moon setting in the West. Mid-February and first blast of snow Now melted, but more on the way. Far away, a rail horn sounds The Radnor Yards are busy tonight. Breath of the beagle at my side Visible in the pale light of reflected Streetlight casting up the hill from below. Shadows. Shadows and Cold. With flashlight beam I Stare into the abandoned garage at The detritus of a life lived In the same spot for fifty years. Now the vines slowly creep forward Like predatory cats stalking A hidden underground prey. Owner of the adjoining house gone, The kids fight over the spoils. Howling. Howling in the cold. A cri de couer from the coyote pack Up the hill from where we stand. Beagle tenses and pushes against my ankle; Looks at me nervously, encouraging us to Press on through the night. We step forward cautiously as The howling pack has subsided into The yips and barks of family communication. They will curl together, fur fluffed against the wind. Dry air. Dry air and Cold. The cold has driven the humidity away I round the front of the house All lights and life gone from here. With deep breath, I begin the descent Headed home with prancing dog. Returning to light, warmth and utility. We live transiting these points between Life and death, warmth and cold. We await the resurrection.
We live in a hilly neighborhood - it’s terrific for sledding when we have snowfall. It also provides a good aerobic workout on even the shortest of walks. One of my regular morning and evening routs with our beagle is up a steep side hill. At the top of it, a grand house sits with a detached garage and a small separate bungalow. The house has not been occupied in several years and so even though it is a private drive, I walk up there to check on the place routinely. This is from one of those walks, I hope you enjoy it.