So that I went out (between client calls and a dance lesson) searching for vivid. And I knelt down to the snow that had gained a patina (in the chilled night) of ice. I wondered, for a moment, what it might be to separate, from all the white, a snow crystal, a single one. Bending down, kneeling then, I felt Anna's scarf unravel. When it fell, it was the vivid thing that I'd been searching for all along.
After the storm, the ice held its own, high in the trees, so that when the sun hit the otherwise naked branches the color bursts were violet, gold, the color myrrh would be, were myrrh a color.
I wore Anna Lefler's red cashmere scarf and torn jeans and three coats. My hair snapped wildly about my head. I had left no work on my desk, no Christmas package unmailed, no have-to, not anywhere, not then.
It was just me and the weather.
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