Let Me Set the Scene
It's a crisp, spring morning early in March. The snow has all but disappeared and the ice is beginning to lose it's foothold under the gaze of the warming sun. After dropping her children off at school, a woman in a big, brown winter coat steps onto the nature trail with her beagle in tow. This relatively long journey will mark the end of her morning obligations and the start of the work day. The lady and her madly sniffing dog disappear into the distance. The camera catches up to them again in the shadows of the forest. The ice in this section is holding firm and proving difficult to navigate. Traction becomes a lost commodity under the light dusting of snow delivered in the wee hours of the morning. A quick tug on the leash is all it takes. She can't feel the ground anymore. Her hip hits first, followed immediately by the back of her head. The scene goes white. After a second, the camera pans from the blankness of the sky to the dog moving in circles around her. Slowly she moves and is able to stand. A few choice words are exchanged between her and the mute dog and they very slowly and cautiously they exit the scene. We see the pair arrive at home. The dog is distracted by a delivery van moving down the road faster than the limit suggests. The woman holds the screen door and puts her hand in her pocket. Her expression changes. The camera switches and we see a sad set of keys splayed on the ice next to a dime that also fell from her pocket on the patch of ice that was her demise.