February 4th

I took a walk up the street to ease the pain in my lower back. I hobbled two blocks up north oak street to the dead-end where I used to waste away the summer afternoons of my childhood. I would take that plywood skateboard, that I got for seven dollars at a yard sale, all the way to the top and ride it, sitting down, all the way to the intersection. It was February forth, and I strained my mind to think of the last time I had mounted the crest of that little hill.

It certainly felt like February forth. It was cold enough that I required the old brown coat that I purchased at the Clock Tower Thrift Store on Arlington boulevard. The zipper fell to pieces last week, and that store closed six months ago. It snowed yesterday and now the bright afternoon sun was melting it all away rendering the roads wet and glistening. The water caused the the gravel dust to stick to my leather shoes and it gritted loudly as I walked. I could smell the cold musk of the damp leaves, and the drab colors of the sun on the tree branches made me think of fall again. The water from the snow gathered in pools on either side of the road. I stopped and looked at my haggard face in one of them. I could see my breath in the still winter air, and I could see the wild tufts of hair that begged for a shower. It was cold but pleasant; February.