Last Winter

I move forward counting parked cars like steps. A bundled-up woman waves at me, she is way across a slithering street I recall her, but only as a last winter recollection. She was in service in Vietnam, she nursed; this part of her I remember only. Her weathered face partly hidden a mouth and nose-covering scarf. There is significance in this numbing landscape. Time is iced over and staggers the moments. The road keeps sliding forward until it forgets us.