"The Mist"

Stepping outside,     

I paused and raised my face to the mist.   

Her cold hands slapped my cheeks crimson,     

making me gasp in surprise.   

I hunkered down my shoulders,   

drawing the collar of my coat tighter to fight off the unexpected chill.   

The predawn sky hung heavy with haze that whispered into my ear,     

“Go back to bed.”   

The street lay in waiting silence with its lights haloed weak and pale.   

The fog muffled my steps as I crossed the slick sidewalk.   

She entranced me with her ebbing dance as I inhaled her essence.    

She engulfed me with her silken touch as I stepped deeper into her embrace.   

Copyright 2011 Elizabeth Abrams Chapman

“Frostbite”

 

            Cold weather blasts into central Texas so infrequently that waking up to a morning with frost dusting any surface provides a spectacular photography opportunity. When I ventured outside this morning with the dogs, frost coated the top of our hot tub. Its sparkle drew my eyes, and I rushed back inside to grab my camera to capture a few shots before the morning sunlight heats the cover and melts away our evidence of last night’s freeze.

 

           



I know many of you sit frozen into place by mountains of snow, and you’ll probably look at these jewels and think, “No big deal.” However, I like pausing in the daily grind just long enough to celebrate Nature’s subtleties.

 

Copyright 2014 Elizabeth Abrams Chapman

“Rolling in the Grass”

Bridget catching lounging in the sun

 

            From puppyhood, our dog Bridget’s loved stretching out in the sunshine. Her sleek black coat catches the sun’s rays. In some lights, she becomes glossy obsidian. No matter the temperature, she’ll lounge outside until she bakes. I think she has some internal censor that pings a warning just before her coat begins to sizzle.
 



Bridget getting ready to roll!

            At that moment, she rolls in the grass.

            Her delight oozes as she squiggles right-left-right-left, and often she grunts in pleasure. When she finishes this ritual, she heads to the back door, which she taps with her paw until someone opens it. But she doesn’t enter the house. Her back, covered with grass or other yard debris, demands a vigorous hand pat or brushing to clear her coat. And so she waits patiently on the back porch while one of us dusts her off.

            This morning’s cold didn’t hinder Bridget’s daily roll in the grass. The rare chill in our Texas air didn’t prevent her from gathering a little warmth from the spotty sunshine and then rolling in the dormant grass.

            Sometimes, I wish my own life could derive happiness in such simple ways. Stretching out in sunbeams—and rolling in the grass.

 

Copyright 2104 Elizabeth Abrams Chapman