It Goes With Her Eyes

I was making my way along the snowy railroad tracks. My dog ran ahead of me sniffing the snow for anything she could eat that lay hidden beneath it.

A three inch wide trail of brown grain had been spilled by a train which had recently passed. Tweety birds and squirrels were filling up on the mile of Prairie grain. The animals were hungry, waiting until the last moment before flying or climbing into the trees as the dog approached them. Soon the rats would be working on the grain too.

Two people barked at my dog after we had left the quiet white of the rail line for the dirty slush sidewalks. One guy went, "Ruff!" the other guy went, "Woof!" People do that sometimes. Bark at dogs. Meow at cats. Tweet at birds. People are fucked.

There were people rolling joints and smoking them on the sidewalks and slightly more discrete locations around town. It was like Gastown in 1972.

In one of the shops I bought a small Christmas gift for Sonja. It is a secret. I hope she likes it. It goes with her eyes.