Monday, January 10, 2011

Breath (10/365)








It was bitter cold when I walked to work this morning.  I pulled my scarf out from under my collar and held it up against my nose.  When my fingertips grew cold I pushed my mittened hand into the pocket of my coat.    Before I ventured out this evening, I pulled my headband down and wrapped my pashmina twice across my face so that only my eyes showed.   I breathed cold air in through my scarf and warm air out.  But the only problem was that I was wearing my glasses today, which steamed up when I breathed out.

I walked carefully along the sidewalk.  Halos hung in the sky, their centers pierced by streetlights and headlamps.  Figures appeared before me like ghosts from miasma: a shadow and a suggestion of legs.  When I was almost home, I stopped beneath the bridge.  Five or six boys were skateboarding in t-shirts and bare arms.   I stood and listened to them shout to each other, listened to the slapping of the wheels against the asphalt.  A fire engine and a police car pushed past, their sirens a call-and-response in the night.  Ensconced in my wool and qiviut and pashmina, I watched them as if through glass.  The light changed, and I walked across the street.


1 comment:

Adam I Zucker said...

Great blog! I am loving your photographs and writings and how well they go together! I hope you'll check out my blog Me You Us and contribute something!