I’d just rounded the corner to my street on the way back from a pleasant evening walk with Sparky, my dog. There it was in front of me.
This evening’s cold front was rapidly advancing. I wouldn’t make it home in time. The approaching air was thick as a blanket, appearing palpable and alien. My dog just looked at me with my gaping mouth, probably wondering if I’d feed him again when we got home.
Yes, if we make it home, I’ll fill your dish again.
I grabbed the leash more firmly and picked up the pace. It seemed like the wind was being knocked out of me.
Not only that, but the wind around me was really kicking up some dust. I started a slow jog then accelerated as much as possible.
Coughing and sputtering, I made it to the door. I fell in, the dog following me. Bravely, I reached into the rolltop desk for my weapon.
That old inhaler does wonders. I peered out the window as the dust demon hurried down the street, a cloud of fog on its heels. Survived, again.
(C) 2019, Pamela Schloesser Canepa
Photo obtained via Pixabay.