Frosty Companion

The Autumn leaves all rustle on my path

A dying melody beneath my feet

Crunch.

The drag of my shoe, crunch.

I near crosswalks stilling my way to work

I’m following the glow of city lights

It’s cooler, bleaker than just yesterday

I see the traffic. Green to yellow. Red.

I run to catch my crossing light turn white

The exertion makes breathing come harsher

Each gasp in tastes of damp with morning dew

I hear footfalls approaching behind me

But don’t look over my shoulder. The wind;

A probable stranger in the shadows

Of office lights maybe never turned off

I focus on reaching the next crosswalk

He catches up and the red turns to white

The breeze sharpens and bites at my soft skin

My decorative scarf becomes of use

The wrap around my neck with chin tucked tight

An increase in pace while crossing the road

My office building gets closer to me

The streets brighten as more lightbulbs click on

He follows with feet quickening. The cold;

Thump. Thump.

My breath now present fogging up my view

We stop at red with another crosswalk

A stretch apart and now back together

And red is turned quickly to white once more

I pull sharp air into my lungs. “Go on!”

His standing beside me is too frigid

A sniffed freshness slices painfully through

The tiny hairs like pinpricks in my nose

My coated lashes catch the falling snow

With hooded lids I watch him go ahead

A hiss of wind tunnels through the city

Like hands on my back. Firm. A push forward.

Do I now catch up in this fleeting dance?

The practicality answers for me.

He’s crossing to my building. “Hold the door!”

A pull and whoosh.

The dried-up leaves nearby are sucked inside

I breathe out the crisp air as the door thuds

He does not come with me; the cold shut out

Stillness…

A layered warm air settles over me

The lobby lights are the only sound now

I inspect a frosted window. A haze;

There’s natural light peeking through the dark

As sunlight was saved. I sigh. And discern.

A puffy texture painting the city

For steps in dimming light when work is done

I wonder if he’ll tug on my gloved hand

With a kiss on my wrist where skin’s left bare

And signals turn to white at each crossing

I missed the change last year and want it now

I know my way back home. I do. Of course!

But he will guide at my side through the cold

As I sense the shifts more this time. His breath;

A tingle at my nape may be welcome