THE QUIET
What I notice about Winter
is noise; even more than the
cold. All those things banging
and clanging into each other,
the large coats and their over-
sized stretches, hitting other
items or knocking them down.
Bull in a China shop? Egads,
Tiffany's watch out for sure.
The scraping of plows and
the roiling umbrage of angry,
icy trucks. Noise, a racket,
always erupts. I'll take the
Summer any time. What
could be more quiet than
the quiet of bare skin?
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