Layered young women toddle solemnly ‘round corners

Like groups of old bitter gypsies or the elderly Baba Yaga,

Callously clenching at coats and muttering their misery

To their cold companions.

But releasing their laughter in short lived clouds of celebratory joy,

Some simply giggle as they trod through the ice,

Like an aged babushka who rolls the space between her fingers

Into little balls of warmth

Hoping to ease the tingling of numb limbs.

And still other women jump with overly

Exaggerated enthusiasm as that of a youthful child…

Only now, so desperately avoiding the puddles

That would drench them to their toes and chill them to their bones.

The men trudge down slick sidewalks, shuffling like mighty

Emperor penguins trying (unsuccessfully) to

Coax the chill to their backs and pray for the absent sun to show

Its warming face.

Shoving bare and blue hands into slight pockets on coat fronts

Lifting lapels to guard tender ears and

Gritting their teeth while bearing the cold

All the while freezing under their pride.

The wind whips frozen flakes of the purest white off ledges

And scoops frosted flecks out of gutters

(Like sand caught in a dust bowl)

And throws it cruelly against fair faces,

Grazing the skin with a minor sting.

The snow drifts down like the white downy of a fine feathered pillow

And the snowballs begin to fly…