On Snow Shovelling

On Snow Shovelling A foot of snow fell by night With no let-up in sight. (“Brrr, it’s cold out there.”)– A mutt rebounds past my window, As I contemplate the morning weather, While sipping my hot cup of coffee. By the street-lamp’s hazy glow, I make out my neighbour: Clad in a scarf, tuque, and parka, With a winter implement Grasped in her mitten covered hands, Bravely confronting the heart attack weather, And tossing snow over her shoulders, To clear the driveway from garage to curb For the mechanical beast to enter The unplowed street. She stops and calls to the mutt. (No doubt, an excuse to catch her breath.) The dog, tail wagging, rushes to his master; Who brushes the snow from his fur; And I venture to guess,—an “Atta-boy!”— As if the dog had accomplished Some great endeavour. But, they both seem to derive pleasure From the brief encounter. The Master resumes her shovelling, And the mutt to his romping, And I to thinking While sipping my hot cup of coffee;— I too will have to face the inclement weather: Clad in a scarf, tuque, and parka, And commit to the task of snow shovelling.