Walking the Dog on Windy Evening

The wind was blowing. The day had been warm, but the wind was blowing, and I stood in dark in the field with my jacket on, amazed that this was winter.

The dog was somewhere behind me. I could hear his collar as he ran from tree to tree. He had fallen far behind me. I whistled, and he ran up and then dashed off to a nearby telephone pole.

The sky was dark, and somewhere up there, low grey clouds were racing to the north. I stood in the orange glow cast down by a streetlight. The dog ran off to the next telephone pole.

Far away across the field, a groaning city bus drove by, its interior lights glowing as it slowed to turn and head back into town.

I don't know why I tell you these things. You might wonder yourself. But moments like these sometimes give me pause, and this one did: I whistled, and the dog stopped what he was doing to run up and join me on my walk in the night in the wind.

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