Arianna

Noticed at 4:33 pm

Walking back up the long hills. It's sunny (a miracle!) and cold, of course, but I'm feeling too good to walk up Powell's endless steps. I walk toward the building, but sidestep it, walking past the smokers' benches and around the side to the little garden area. I stomp up the couple flights of steps (why do I do that?), noticing the chipping red-crimson paint on the railings. Underneath is a hard gray, but the red adds character. I briefly wonder how many people have used it before me, but then the moment has passed and I'm half way up the hill.

I stop, staring and the campus lawn in front of me. Pristine snow is broken only by the shadows of distant trees (the sun is just above it's setting hill now). I try to follow the trail of one of the shadows back, but then I realize that it doesn't matter. I take a mental picture (snap!) and then walk onward, raising my shoulders against the brisk wind.

Smelling, my scarf, which other than cold, smells like home - Alfred home at least. A little bit like yeast because I was baking yesterday.

I hear a car turn onto Park Street, a couple walking toward Powell, my occasionally crunchy steps.

Feeling really good. Cold, but just too good to be worried about it.

Tasting, the remnants of a winter mint a friend gave me, very little of the flavor left.

Almost there, I wonder what will happen tonight.