The cool blues of the furrowed snow form the entire backgroung. The golden tones of Holly's coat are burnished by the late afternoon winter sun. A fierce January storm had buried Maine in 2 or 3 feet of snow. The Dachsies were trapped, unable to proceed more than 2 or 3 feet from the door through the deep, over-their-heads snow. Wolfgang hurried out to carve his precise geometric path down the driveway. When he was done, the dogs eagerly raced out the gate to freedom. Holly hit the driveway and stopped cold. She gingerly stood up, paws at the edge of the snow walls, and gazed steadily, unbelievingly at the infinite expanse of white world stretching out before her. |
