Standing on the sidewalk by the house, it is quiet. Each sound becomes significant--
the drip, slow and singular, of ice melting from the eaves, and the rumble of my brother's conversation seeping through the droughty kitchen window frames. Miles all around fade into a snowy white mist. I cannot make out the field's end. Near at hand, the yellow rose brier is encased in a fragile silver spell which I hardly see, watching, instead, the large black dog as he roots something nasty from the snow and crunches it.
Such careful being in the present in your surroundings is wonderful to read and imagine. I had to slow down reading your words to try to take in each observation. And the sudden crunch of the dog's impatient actions breaks the mood nicely. I don't think I've read about your brother before. Is he older?
ReplyDeleteThanks! My brother is actually eight years younger than I am. He was a dream come true for me as I had longed for a little sibling for a long time. Now that he is older, I enjoy the new delightful surprise of learning from him and relating as adults.
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