First day of the shortest month

Toffee-colored ribbons of snow trailed behind tires as I waited for the crossing light to change.

I walked past a woman with lilac lipstick and a black tulle skirt.  She spoke French to a man, carried a black umbrella, and wore black laced-up boots.

The snow pattered on my coat as I walked down muted city streets, glad for boots made in Canada.


A hotel doorman shoveled the broad sidewalk and said a cheery hello to me.  


I smiled at people I passed, covered in hoods of fur and knit caps, we all with white caps on heads and shoulders.