A Cold November Day

In the cool fog of the predawn morning on a cold November day. Darkness is apparent, waiting, A shadow bouncing along the edges of the grey. The wind howls a melancholy song, like a Bassist plays the blues. A dark tall figure looms there, the wind barely ruffles its hair. A laborador stand on hind legs, not the playful dance of a dog, but the haunting stance of a demon. It stares straight through me. I am frozen in fear as it draws near. A hauntingly human walk as it steps from the shadows on my block. A deep, menacing growl pierces the winds howl. It speaks, "Come with me," and the darkness closes in. My soul was not saved on this cold November day.