With snow starting in about two hours, we've a fire in the hearth and plenty of wood. Food to keep us sated through Tuesday in case the storm goes to the high end forecast. We took our walk early, too. The neighborhood was pretty quiet, the air calm and crisp, everything gray and sepia, the colors of winter.
As we approached the park, I heard a man's voice and looked over to see a dad some distance away with two young children standing on the threshold of the bridge over the creek. He looked like a young Mandy Patinkin (from Sunday in the Park with George), a neatly trimmed beard and twinkly eyes. The children, a girl and a boy were all dressed up in their winter finery.
The dad was saying, "We've just crossed through the magic portal."
"The what!?" exclaimed the little girl.
"The magic portal," said the dad. "We're no longer in Maryland. We're in Switzerland!"
"Swizzerland?" said the girl. Her little brother was poking at the ground with a stick.
"Switzerland. It's the place where people yodel."
"What's a yodel?" asked the girl. She turned to look at her brother.
Her dad turned away slightly, shielded his mouth with his flattened hand, and let peel a yodel. The little girl's head popped back. "Did you hear that?" asked the dad. "That was a yodel."
She thought for a second, then said, "That was you!"
He said, "Oh no. I don't know how to yodel. It came from other there." He pointed across the park.
As soon as she looked in that direction, he yodeled again.
By then, Romeo and I were about to pass them, and I said to him when he looked at us, "Guten tag."
Without skipping a beat, he replied, "Guten tag."
"Did you hear that man with the dog?" he asked his daughter. "He was speaking German. In Switzerland the people speak German."
"Ooohh," said the girl slowly her skepticism suddenly, momentarily assailed beyond her confidence in the game.
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