It’s the middle of January, and our neighbor’s pond has
frozen, thawed and frozen again. We are in the minuses. The deep freeze has set
in and the doldrums are making themselves comfortable.
“Use at your own risk,” the sweet-sounding neighbor on the other end of the line says the day I call to introduce myself. Our conversation flows easily, like brushing fluffy snow off a car window.
“It’s really something,” we both agree, speaking of the frozen wonder that lies between our two yards. We talk about meeting there one day. Bundling up and seeing each other’s faces, maybe even venturing out onto the ice.
“This means the world to my husband,” I say.
“Use at your own risk,” the sweet-sounding neighbor on the other end of the line says the day I call to introduce myself. Our conversation flows easily, like brushing fluffy snow off a car window.
“It’s really something,” we both agree, speaking of the frozen wonder that lies between our two yards. We talk about meeting there one day. Bundling up and seeing each other’s faces, maybe even venturing out onto the ice.
“This means the world to my husband,” I say.
