Winter’s Morning

The icy-cold wind penetrated all of the layers that she had put on that morning. The underwear, thermals and pajamas that she slept in, as well as her ski pants, three t-shirts, jumper and jacket. And two scarves and a beanie.

She remembered the warmth of home, how every day she wore shorts and singlet-tops, and she felt she could even smell the sun.

She closed her eyes and lifted her face to the sun as she waited for the red man to turn green so she could cross the road. She hoped against hope that, despite its weakness, some tiny bit of warmth might struggle down to her.

Nothing.

Her eyes shot open as she was pushed by the crowd starting to cross the road. She pulled a scarf across her face and walked with them, warmed slightly by the bodies of the crowd.

 

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