Sighed, the wind did.
He puffed softly, a white mist swirling before his lips, then gone; blown into the frigid surrounding air. He trudged through the thick white drifts of snow, drawing his coat tighter about himself. Cold, it ate him, nibbled through the cloak that shadowed him. He tucked the package deeper into his arm.
Nothing, silence on the streets. The snow was falling again; slowly, beautifully, drifting through the lamp lights, landing silently on where they lay, not even a murmur of discontent in their placing. One after another, falling silently.
Glass panels, all facing the streets, had creased their incessant crowing and parading of their merchandise of the day, now, watching, as if in a held breath, of the falling snow. Slowly, slowly, a blanket of whiteness was laid.
He, pushed through, noting nothing except for the thoughts that swirled around in his mind; so much like the snow that did in the physical world. Grey, dull lampposts of the day, turned into a candle of white wax in Mother Nature's caress. Burning softly to light the path of the man that saw, but did not notice; felt, but did not feel. A white landscape of nature's making painted through the dark, cold city.
He sighed, hunching over to drive out the cold. The day had taken its toll, now the night was going to give it back. She held it out, with two hands, but he walked past her without a slightest indication of he had noticed. She sighed, then resided back into the soft shadows that was her enclave, and waited while the snow, like a cloak, drew about her.
He stumbled, catching himself, he straightened up, hoarsely cursing the darkness as he did so. The lamps quavered, but did not give up. It had became a norm for them to be blamed for nearly everything bad that went on in the night. By time, they had gotten used to it.
Maybe, if he had looked closer at what he had thought was a trick of the light, he would have seen her, a dim figure, watching silently from the swirling snow as she had always been.
