Once, in Beijing, a young girl in a red gown huddled in a doorway. Once, in Bucharest, a old man in a red scarf lost his way on a familiar street. Once, in Brooklyn, a young boy in red shoes ran home from school as fast as he could. Today, in a red coat, I found the answer to my final question.
Snow was falling bringing the kind of cold that made you huddle into your coat. I walked across a field I crossed every day. Hopped the stile and cut through a stand of trees to reach the bus stop. Not the driest way home but the shortest. It had been a long day. He called over and over. But I wouldn't talk to him. There was nothing else I needed to know.
It was darker earlier all the time now. Or maybe just now I was noticing. I didn't notice the bus.