During the night cooler air swirled into the house though the open windows. It fingered our faces gently and tickled our toes. It lured the dogs from the floor to the foot of the bed. As the temperature continued to drop, the dogs searched for warmth. Koi, with his thick white coat, sandwiched himself between me and David, flipping onto his back. I suppose he enjoyed the contrast of the cool air that pat his stomach to the body heat we provided. Short-haired Bridget dove under the covers. Nose first, she scooted under both sheets and comforter where she u-turned, slid up my side, and ended up resting her head on my pillow. Her sleek black body pressed against my back like a live heating pad.
I burrowed under the blankets, spooning closer to David for warmth. In that hazy zone between sleep and wakefulness, I turned the dance of the wind chimes outside our window into a symphony of notes. Slumber pulled me deeper under the covers, cuddling with me against the cold. I resisted the alarm’s irritation and curved into Koi and David for one more minute of sleep. Finally, I dragged myself away when my mother called out from the other room to request her “first” breakfast. As I sit and write, I feel envious of Bridget, who lingers under the covers still.
Copyright 2011 Elizabeth Abrams Chapman
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