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Patrick M. Pilarski

Dog Skiing

My dog waits ahead of me on the path. It stares at me, tongue out, breath curling in the dry winter air. Tied to the beast. I align my feet with the grooves of polished snow left by yesterday's skiers. Then, without warning, the husky's patience breaks; its white fur explodes into motion; the rope around my waist pulls taut as it catches a scent, accelerates, charges off down the path paws pound the snow dart past trees hooked branches in my peripheral becoming a blur with speed the silence opens wraps itself around the dog's laboured breath the rush of skis my panicked yelp as I crash headlong into a drift of deep white snow.

dull yellow sun—
dog sniffs the air
for snowflakes