Winter Walk

After the past few days of arctic winds, today feels almost warm. I walk to meet a friend for tea, a half-hour walk, bundled in scarf, hat, down parka with its coyote-trimmed hood, gloves, warm boots. Parents pull little children on sleds; a few cyclists ride through six inches of snowy slush on studded tires; on the distant edge of the park, the upper bodies of hockey players glide back and forth behind the boards of the rink, frictionless and silent. In Oslo, Helsinki, Moscow, other people are doing the same things, we're used to it, sixty years of it in my case, the way we stamp our feet when we enter an interior, feel the heat against our cold cheeks, undo the zippers and push back the hoods, strip off a few layers of wool and fleece, present our faces for two kisses from those who're already inside.