The Street

A cold wind blew down the street. Just a few people were out and they, like the leaves and bits of refuse blown about, were in a rush to get somewhere. For the pedestrians it was somewhere warm, a car, an apartment breezeway, or the University which stood behind the clock tower at the end of the street. Trees swayed and creaked in the wind, complaining about the harsh movement.

Although the sun was out the air was cold and sliced through clothing like a knife. Even standing in one's living room window surveying the scene from the refuge of a fire heated room wasn't enough to protect an onlooker. The memory of such days as this chilled his fingers with the memories of aches and old pains so much so that he alternatingly clenched and rubbed his hands together to warm them against those old, cold ghosts.

Pine trees standing green stood with dark, frigid shadows underneath and patches of cold sunlight about them. The grass underneath those and the bare trees which had shed their leaves. The winter had been hard so far, harder than anticipated and with more to come.

Spring couldn't come fast enough for many, but for him, he was enjoying this. He liked the cold winds and the harshness of it all. He was even hoping that the weather would keep its icy grip on the region a bit longer before finally giving way to the warmer nights and days and the first light green buds of spring.