Woodswild

The faded red screen door recoiled shut with a slam. The overworn welcome mat underfoot made a swishing, scuffing noise at the movement. Flannel overcoat buttoned, boots laced, woolen headband pulled down over the ears--and dog, waiting patiently to traipse trails of leafless trees. The pale green thermos cup full of steaming hot, freshly ground coffee was deceptively cool to the touch on the outside. The sharp bite of morning's cold was simply a nip- smoke from the neighbor's chimney downdrafted and wafted stealthily through the trees. Blank and devoid of any expression, the clouds hung low and thick and without dimension. A lone crow's call over the fields that edged the forest, heralding late fall.