We all scream

It's November, and now that Betsy has retired her bike seat for the winter, I'll be occasionally walking to work and seeing the neighborhood at a more leisurely pace. We had frost last night so I dug out a pair of mitts and followed the sidewalk to work, the grass on both sides flattened and white. The air was cold and still. The sun was golden, and the wide sky, high above the snarling traffic, pastel crayons released from their box and spread across the horizon; a smear of baby blues, pinks and peaches; light and surreal and unattainable.