The Divine Old Dog stood by the back door,

watching the storm,

she was so excited to go out,

she walked down the path,

making a trail,

she circled once or twice, and sniffed the air,

and barked at the snow,

falling off the tree limbs,

the songbirds flew off of the feeder,

and up on the roof, they

sang for her,

she danced in the storm,

and swirled in the snow,

to a flutes played  by the angels,

once held by God,

they were calling to her,

she stuck her nose deep in the drifts,

smelling for chipmunks or rabbits,

for mice and moles,

soon she was covered in snow,

her legs began to tremble,

she shivered, her legs could not dance

any longer. When she came in,

she lay close to the stove, her eyes closed,

dreaming of the freedom and

beauty and stillness

of the winter woods,

her warm body,

in constant yearning.