A Snow Night

The window was shiny black reflecting the apartments interior and the heated discussion. Excited voices about Rousseau and Olmec jaguars and other wonderful things bounced back like the lights. To see the winter storm one pressed against the cold glass but even that view was fogged by misted breath. The blurred scene was of a silent white city with streets mottled golden by shadows of snowflakes in amber streetlight. The only sound was unheard winds of little twisting devils.

Though she was a daughter of warm sun and sea, she was not totally unfamiliar to snow. "Snow properly belongs in the mountains to be viewed from afar." She would frequently tease. Her cold forehead flattened by the glass shined moist and flush pink. Now well past midnight, bundle up, I said.

We took to the streets pushing little vee shaped wedges in the shin deep snow mesmerized by the silence, eyes shining from the mystery and the sharing. Walking through the nearly empty Village, neon from the cafes reflecting hells red on the white. Through the ice glazed windows exuberant drunks and late night poets to be, could be seen in last call frenzy. To the train, I said, North to Wonderland!

We climbed over the stone wall and through the brambles that would see fruit come spring. Under us the Strawberry Fields unmarked but the trace of a brave squirrel's meanderings painted playful hunger. 

I sat on a bench under a park lamp meaninglessly contemplating the forethought of the architecture that combined this wonder of nature and the worth of man. She just danced and danced, twirling and laughing at fleeing ghosts batting them with her hands and digesting them on her tongue.

Awakened, she stood shivering before me, only her laced black boots remaining to protect her. A crown of white fluff on her dark hair, shoulder and breast jeweled with small melted opals and eyes with moonlight fire, a sculpture of truth. 

"Warm me," was all that she gave me.