Late November, as decent a day as we'll get this time of year. But cold.
Northwest across Victoria Park, a modest objective in this world.
Soon we'll stay indoors, crossing streets downtown in pedways. Winter will roar so loud we'll be nothing but peeks from parkas if we're anything at all.
For now, the sun could claim full glory. We'd keep clothing off if we could.
The soldier saves heat.
We walk in straight lines.
The next four months will be worse, one more after that about the same.
That means only half the time here can we ease into motion without blowing on our hands.
"Wait for the sun again," some song will say, as if the sun's not already here.
No matter where we look.
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