It would be such a wonderful day to begin posting poems. Inside it is warm and silent. The heater is off, the dishwasher has finished its sudsy babbling, even the fire seems to feel the need to be part of the silence. I'm sure it won't last more than a magical moment. Soon, a pocket of pitch in the cedar log will pop in the fireplace, the dogs will raise their questioning heads and one will stretch, then let out a loud yawn followed by the other dog's noisy yawn, followed by one of my own.
Outside, the motion of noise has begun. A cold, wet wind shakes droplets from the blackberry leaves, then rattles the vent over the stove. Now, comes the expected pop from the fire. A loud, "ouch" from me as I jump and strike my knee on the desk. The dogs don't wake though, they are deep. But soon, one will start chasing a rabbit through its dreams. Weak barks will follow, and paws will bat awkwardly at the air of my living room, as they lope gracefully through the grasses of another world. Perhaps it's springtime there?
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