The Perfect Sled

Wednesday, January 19, 2005

Robert E. Lee’s birthday it was, that slightly warmer January day. Thankfully, for Collette’s better interest, the skies were gray with only the flicker of light circling the rim of the horizon, like orange sherbet – a pale golden-cream light. The rustling brown oak across the street shuffled its branches, silhouetted against the pale horizon. The bean pods seemed more shriveled and dry than usual. And spring was still two months away. The snow had not left the ground, fortunately for Joe, who was still on a mad hunt for the perfect sled.