Pneumonia Weather

January 31, 1995|By Madeleine Mysko

A warm front mops the sky,

Wads of clouds moving briskly

Above the rooftops and


Lunch hour, we must be out of


Heading for the little park

With its stripped trees and


Up and down the street, the


Are simply taken with sun --

Brick and stone coloring, every

feature unfolding

(Ledge, lintel, pillar, cornice) in

afternoon light.

We're warmer out than in.

We perspire in our coats.

Halfway down the block,

hatless and unzipped,

We get lost in an updraft of

time --

What season is this, so balmy

out of turn?

How sweetly it takes us by the


Leading us around the next


Into shadow

And a sudden chill.

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