To a Contact Lens, Lost on Argyle Circle

It is 22 degrees this morning, so I politely decline my usual morning walk.  I am reminded of a poem I wrote in February or March of 2018:

To a Contact Lens, Lost on Argyle Circle

Frigid fingers finding in the lid…nothing.
Accidentally wiped from the eye
to the thankless sidewalk below.
I stumble on for another mile and a half,
and wave politely at empty cars.

Folding Money That Has Come Unstove

This is a dollar bill that I found recently while on my morning walk.  It is either boob money or boy-pocket money as it bears the unmistakable hallmarks of legal paper tender that has been kept in the confines of a brassiere or the confines of the pocket of a boy child.  Both confines are historically and equally sweaty, and could render money into such a wrinkled state.  I haven’t been able to spend it yet.  It sits on my dresser, forcing me to ponder its provenance…

The Consolation

Two mornings ago, sidewalks slick with ice, I made my two-mile, pre-work walk after a week and a half of rain, sleet and snow...which equals no morning walk.  Not another soul in sight except the striking older woman in a red coat boldly power-walking in the middle of Turrentine Street.  This is her technique, as I've seen her walking before.  I am not so willing to brave the middle of the street, preferring to keep to the sidewalks, with their frost and root upheaved chunks of concrete.  She and I smile and greet each other.  Maybe one day I will be her.

The upside this morning is that the sun is visibly coming up earlier.  Spring, soon?