When I opened the back door last night at 10 to let the dogs out one last time before bed, I could smell impending frost in the air. And indeed I found such at 6 this morning, when I went out to the car to retrieve the youngest's backpack.
Both times, I was thinking of the lost Boy Scout from Greensboro. Both times I was hoping that child had a really warm coat and a whole mess of survival sense.
Both times I got an awful feeling at the bottom of my stomach, imagining how helpless and desperate his mother must feel, knowing that even if he is twelve years old, he is still Her Baby.
Search efforts continue.