An unexpected drop in temperature, and the sudden hoarse laughter of wind.
I wrap pine boughs around the crocuses to keep them warm. Be still now. Rest.
Errands in Manhattan, where the cold seems oddly to muffle city sounds. I am wearing my thickest coat, vintage and solidly made. Just the same the wind makes a joke of it, crawling up my arms and shaking out its pockets. It searches for warmth, grasping for any bits of energy a body may have preserved through the winter.
Go away, I whisper irritably. Everything I had you took long ago.
And the wind laughs and soars around the corner, ballooning hems and leaving a cluster of tourists clutching for their hats.
But as the sky bleeds into twilight I cannot suppress a swell of enchantment. Blue expanding like blots of ink, sliced with the impossible gleam of stars.
I stop fighting the wind and feel my scarf expanding like a mast. I will not begrudge winter its last yowl down these dusty streets. As my fingers begin to tingle I bow into a sushi shop, a rare indulgence. The yellow bloom of an open kitchen, sweet-faced chefs nodding in greeting.
Hot green tea washes down ginger and seaweed. Hands warm painfully on a porcelain mug. Be still now. Rest.