Snow Walk

I stride past the woman teetering on the ice that's piled up around the street corners, and I find myself wondering at my impatience. Why do I need to walk at a particular speed, faster than her (in difficulty though she may be), but slower than this guy whose footsteps I hear coming up quickly behind?

I slow my stroll on the mostly clear sidewalks, but there's still a lot of snow, shoved in shovel-high drifts at the curbs, solid as rock and mogulled with footprints. The guy passes me, and I know the ice won't melt for a long time, months, maybe not even until spring.