A Bird's Eye View

I looked up to see Gabriel's hounds heading south and knew that it was over. Inside for the season, inside to settle by the fire, for the hounds herald the change of season. Named because of their cries they were once thought to be the souls of unbaptized children, doomed to circle the heavens until judgment day, I prefer to think of them as weather vanes pointing south, away from the inevitable. My hounds lead me in circles, however, and I spend my time looking at the sky instead of at the ground.

She took my hand and squeezed it as hard as she could, which wasn't hard at all, and she smiled at me. I opened the car door and she got in, reclining, closing her eyes and falling asleep almost immediately. I drove carefully so she wouldn't wake up and as the sun came up I positioned the visor to shield her eyes.

I had the habit of getting up early, 6:30 or so, and driving into town to get a newspaper and a coffee which I would take to the small park. I would sit at the edge of the river and smoke a cigarette or two and wait for the world to wake up. The sound of the river calmed my fears and watching the ducks paddle back and forth settled my mind and helped me believe that the world was right and beautiful. She would ask me how my morning was as I helped her up and into the shower and I would say, "It was nice; quiet." I didn't tell her that I saw the hounds wheeling away from me, leaving the sky empty and grey. I did tell her about the ducks, though.