A Cold Winter's Night

As the temperature plummets tonight, I was forced to run outside with an armload of big brown bathtowels and wrap our small young trees, to prevent them from freezing in the upcoming and continuing arctic blast that has taken over our country, including South Louisiana. Once swaddled in various shades of brown terrycloth and clothes-pinned into place, the trees took on the look of diminutive Franciscan priests standing, hooded, in the dark yard, eerily lit by the streetlight. Slightly bent over from the weight of the towels, the 'monks' silently stand their ground, prepared to face the frigid night ahead of them.
I came into the house, stamping my half-frozen feet and hoping to get a sense of feeling back ino my nose and ears. The dogs not, wanting to wander back outside into the icy cold, had been sitting by the front door waiting for me. As soon as the door swung open to let me in, they both spied the 'trespassers' in their yard and bolted outside barking madly in an attempt to alert the whole neighborhood of the invasion of the minature monks and to frighten them out of our yard. The tiny 'priests' were unfazed by the ruckus; they stood there, heads bowed, slightly bobbing in the North wind, mutely standing vigil in the icy darkness.
When the dogs finally gave up, perhaps thinking they had sufficiently intimidated their rogue adversaries, and I managed to herd them back into the house, I was able to close the door on the figid priestly "still life" spectacle in our backyard, hoping them the best as they brave the long cold night. I hope the morning light finds the valiant little friars none the worse for wear.
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