As I drove up to my house, I saw a young maybe teenage girl, in a calf length jean skirt, with a purple stuffed coat going down to cover where I imagine there were back pockets. She was walking to the house next to mine. I parked the truck and got out. Told the dog, Jane, to get out of the back. Jane ran right into the neighbors yard, and, as I yelled for her to “get back over here”, the combination of the dog running to greet her – and me yelling at the dog – scared the mousy creature half to death.  She let out as much of a yelp as you’d expect a mouse to muster. But it was a short scare, as the dog turned back when called.  As the dog returned, I began to apologize, but her back was already to me.

I walked up to the porch and found, tucked into the door handle, “Live Animal Christmas Play… Marion Avenue Baptist Church”. I walked into the house and sat in my overstuffed, once upon a time red, now mostly pink, smelling a bit of dog that wasn’t supposed to be up there, chair. I watched the girl through the picture window and noticed her combed this morning, wind’s been blowing, brown hair. Long in the back. Bangs curling into her brow.

She crunched across the stiff November grass, occasionally stepping on a spot of snow, and placed another pamphlet carefully in the door. I felt a twinge of cynicism as I watched her tread her mission. I resisted it and thought how she must find this very fulfilling.