Jim woke from his dream with a message: “You’ve got ten years, maybe eleven. Count on no more.” The “ten years” gave him hope he’d get through this winter after a fresh foot of snow last night piled onto two already out there.
Across the road Jim heard Beatriz scream at her dogs. He considered yelling, “Merry Christmas, Beatriz!” But he’s been there, done that, and wished he hadn’t.
With only ten years left Jim felt he might as well plow the drive to her cabin, round up her dogs, and see if she needed other help with the snow.
Frank Hubeny spends his time between Miami Beach and Northbrook, Illinois. He has appeared in The Lyric, Snakeskin and Ancient Paths Literary Magazine. He regularly posts poetry, short fiction and photography to https://frankhubeny.blog.