Michael, this reminds me of a book of poems about a little donkey who lived in your winter world. Here is a page form it,
Platero y yo / Platero and I,
http://www.amazon.com/Platero-y-yo-I/dp/0395623650/ref=pd_bbs_sr_2?ie=UTF8&s=books&qid=1217264465&sr=8-2Platero and I, A 1956 Nobel Prize winner by
Juan Ramon Jimenez
XXXVII
The Cart
In the big creek, which the rains had swelled as far as the vineyard, we found an old cart stuck in the mud, lost to view under its load of grass and oranges. A ragged, dirty little girl was weeping over one wheel, trying to help the donkey, who was, alas, smaller and frailer than Platero. And the little donkey was spending himself against the wind, trying vainly at the sobbing cry of the child to pull the cart out of the mire. His efforts were futile, like the efforts of brave children, like the breath of those tired summer breezes which fall fainting among the flowers.
I patted Platero, and as well as I could I hitched him to the cart in front of the wretched little donkey. I encouraged him then with an affectionate command, and Platero, at one tug, pulled cart and beast out of the mud and up the bank.
How the little girl smiled! It was as if the evening sun, setting among the yellow-crystal rain clouds, had kindled a dawn of joy behind her dirty tears.
With tearful gladness she offered me two choice oranges, perfect, heavy, round. I took them gratefully, and I gave one to the weak little donkey, to comfort him; the other to Platero as a golden reward.
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