I'm walking quickly down a deserted street.

I didn't check the sign, and it's all very unfamiliar.

The scenery changes-

trees from green

to red

until their barren limbs clutch the white sky.

Cars with snow tires whiz by.

And when the snow melts,

I walk in slush - dirty with unforgotten memories of the Past

of the cruel cold winter.

Then - when the pavement is hot,

I walk - barefoot - braided strings around my ankles.

Fear is gone in summer, the sun like the passing of Time

dries everything up and buries it deep below the surface.

Some things I can predict:

when to wear mittens, when to wear shorts.

Other things I can't.

And do I want to?

Is it nicer not to know what is to come?

Up ahead is a crosswalk.

The sign says don't walk but I cross anyway.

You must take Risks-

or Time will pass without you

leaving you barren and dead

like the trees in winter.