The Valentine, Part One: Snow on City Center

Look. Look up and see it falling; the ivory-blue flakes fluttering down between the red-and-grey stone monoliths whose heights are lost to the ground, which to the eye appear to be falling inward. They catch the warm updraft from an exhaust in the building and swirl up and left and briefly are lost amongst the low, grey clouds that hang over the works of man like the coming of an angry diety in a forlorn age whose divine vengeance is to strip away all color, all life.

The snow is piled in neat intervals alongside the sidewalk, which is rapidly becoming covered again, and interlaced with the footprints of a black-and-grey clad army. They tromp, heads low and covered and rushing quickly to escape the cold: a cold that has robbed the scent of the streets away; and sound.

Pass through a park; once verdant trees now protude their pale bones skyward, asking supplication. Mute statues of long-dead heroes glisten icily on stone columns ensconced by snow. Two figured swaddled in hats, coats and blankets study figures on a chessboard, steam puffing out occassionally.

And then: You. A patchwork coat of colors and matching hat, you are the antithesis of this day. You are bright, and willful, and defiant. Your scarf carelessly whips around as you turn to me, and recognition brings a smile so bright that the snow all around us dims in comparison. To me, the rest fades away. To me, there is only you.

You are who I came to see.