Snow falls, soft and cold like Eskimo kisses. I stoop to gather firewood and pull a muscle in my gut. Another ache, another pain. But I think of the alternative, and am grateful that I still feel pain. For now. Of course, I'd rather be young again, and free of the things that hurt. But that's not how it goes. I'm not done yet though. I hope. Oh, how I hope ... and I throw a small stick. Buddypup takes off like a quarter horse, and flies past it, does a beautiful spin, then with the limb in his mouth, runs full throttle by me, growling in ecstasy.

I can't chase him. But I call out his name, and the sound of my voice spurs him into a frenzy. He runs in circles, with the peculiar gait a dog has when they are in play mode ... tail half tucked, butt low. It's hilarious, but I don't dare laugh. It hurts to laugh right now, but I guffaw inside my mind and Buddy knows I'm happy. He misses my happy. And I miss being outside with him. We both need the air. The trails and freedom to move about. We wait for spring ... we long for the new leaves, the lilacs--the whippoorwills calling our names. We wait to really live again.

Snow falls faster, the clouds grow darker and we stay. We stay to play and as the wind picks up and as my dog and I get wet and cold, a deep rumble shakes the very ground. A sound so out of place, at first, I believe I've gone daft and am hearing things. Thunder. Thunder, then a flash of lightning! Buddy cowers next to my legs, the unexpected storm scaring him like it does every spring. I can't move. It's beautiful. Thundersnow ... thunder in winter always promises snow in the spring. Mother Nature has shared another of her surprises with us. I hug my dog and tell him it's okay. We stand in the doorway of the barn then, and the storm eases away as the sun says good-night.

In the warmth of the laundry room, I shed my heavy coat, and Buddy shakes wet drops all over. More messes to clean. More work. But we heard thunder. It was as if Spring were peeking through the clouds telling me she was on her way. I smile. It was a good day ... a good day to be alive.