Praise to the airport dog park.
Praise to its winter marsh and blue snow and wide white slopes.
Praise to its dark branches reaching skyward.
Praise to the roaring birds of jets, ascending and alighting.
Praise to the large woman with the high fretting voice, calling her dogs over and over, calling them that they, unlike the others, might never leave her.
Praise to the man with the leathery face and the earflapped cap, treading the far marsh with his huskies.
Praise to wilderness surrounded by highways and barbed-wire FAA fences.
Praise to this place that reminds me that winter is beautiful.
Praise to life sleeping under the ice, holding itself within itself.
Praise to my black dog, shadow behind my legs.
Praise to his doe-eyed cousin, friend to all he meets.
Praise to them both, flat-eared silent streaks, racing the woodland path.
Praise to the god of dogs, who watches over their streaming tails, their soulful eyes, and their consecrated hearts.