Sometimes, when the temperature rises above freezing, and everything around melts a little, I make snowballs for my dog. I throw them up into the air, and he waits for them to fall back with his mouth wide open. I suppose, he thinks of them as tennis balls that miraculously fall into a myriad pieces and disappear once he bites down. Well, actually, I have no idea what he thinks, other than the fact that he loves doing so.
That day, the Moon looked like one of those snowballs—that I had thrown up into the sky—that never came back.
Time to make another one for the dog.
