I walk alone at night,
In the cold.
My hands thrust deep in my pockets,
Its a lonely world,
And I hear only the sound of my boots
Crunching
In the freshly fallen snow.
Why is it all except myself
Are warm?
And in bed asleep?
The streets are deserted-
Post apocalyptical scenes
Of signs swinging in the wind,
Wrappers blowing across the parking lot,
Meteorite snowflakes falling
From an otherwise black and empty sky.
Rounding a corner I see a man,
Walking towards me along the same path.
Too late to turn around
Or go a different way.
As he nears I feel my fingers clutch around keys
But glance up anyway, politeness ingrained in me
Like childhood dirt from
Too much playing in the fields.
His eyes meet mine momentarily.
He smiles, "Hello",
My own voice reciprocates and we pass without pause,
Carrying on our separate ways.
Soft voice, kind eyes.
Too wrapped up in hat and scarf, darkness and milliseconds
To glean any other detail.
My hand unclenches, inside I relax.
Another wanderer looking for an answer, seeking 'the truth'.
Or perhaps he just ran out of milk.
Whatever.
Inexplicably a small candle lights in a dark room
In the house that I am passing.
Now, at last, I am tired.
I will go home, and sleep well tonight.
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