You sit there in your room, that shrunken world, surrounded by trinkets; an attempt to anchor the tides of your ebbing memory. I have been told that you dislike visitors but I have come nevertheless, before I lose my nerve.
Despite being an old dog, he never seemed to tire of the winter. The more snow, the better. Bobalou’s celebration of each inaugural snowfall taught me to welcome the winter, to appreciate it as a season of renewal, to breathe in that cold, familiar midwestern chill as if it were a regenerative elixir.