the pedestrian

Waking up in the winterdark, I head downstairs. Cold floors and echoes of early morning dreams.

I pass by the front door and see someone out on the sidewalk, a dark shape bundled up against the cold.

Halfway to the kitchen, I stop.

The dark shape picking its way along the crust of snow, another echo in the back of my head. Old, old feelings.

The shape, slightly too tall . . . too tall and too dark.

Not a person, no.

Back at the door, I look one way and then the other. Up and down the street, far as I can see.

Nothing. No one.