The cold leeches into my stiff, patched and dirty blanket.
The first sugar dusting is predicted to fall tonight. The first snow, blanketing the soot-blackened buildings.
Small and golden, my little girl loved the snow. And now she is gone.
The first cold wind of winter rustles my hat, carrying my it beyond reach. I am too old, too tired to pick it up.
Besides, the night display is coming as soon as the blanket of smog and night make it difficult to see the loud signs of the city square.
The lights,the only beauty in this end of the chilly, dark city where the stars have been snatched away in the smog. A pin-prick is the first one to show. A small pink light in the distance, blinking at it's only sad view across the chipped and cracked alley, a small antique store, stocked with treasures too expensive for my lonley and dirty corner of town. The next light is not far from there, with a broken mirror across the street, a stained, chipped mirror stuck there for some forgotten reason. This light dances, creating tongues of light whirling around the dirty old plaza, in a forgotten and dusty part of town without beauty, save these lights. The ancient strings of tinsel strung above our square blur into the night as many colored or golden lights shimmy down, creating a wild waltz of color. My tired eyes are rested by this sight, for even the longest river winds safely down to sea.