i think your heart was just like the moon

morning: almond croissants & cafe-au-lait at julien's
afternoon: chai lattes & film group meetings at the coburg

the first day of february (pronounced: fe-brew-ary) was dripping with sun, was a hundred crisp blank pages. sidewalks deep with shadow lattice, the sharp-cut brilliance of sky. i wore my iconic sunglasses, a little girl's peacoat, sheer tights and i went north. the windowside loaves glow amber & light varnishes the seductive-sweet confections. two women (bobbed grey hair, mec windbreakers) knit side-by-side, their stitches and party teapots on the table. they chat with two bicycle policemen (yellow jackets, helmets), the only ones of the city. and hidden at the table behind the staircase, i listen, watching the morning's pageantry unfold. i am writing, writing and i finish a very short story before i leave. my fingers, soft with powder sugar, are restful, delicate against the ceramic bowl.

i'm never ready for the newness of a new year. i like things better once i've settled into their patterns. (i have stopped thinking about eight, the serpentine lines now easily drawn.) so here are my not-so-new year's proposals: take more photographs & get something published.

i know four songs about february: two are bitter, one joyous & one instrumental.