Solstice

A morning thick with fog and frost; the trees have aged visibly, their silver limbs twisting in the cold. Jack Frost is everywhere, the pedestrian crossing included, and I am inadequately shod in a pair of crimson shoes. Late again, I offer the empty morning my best girly run as I try to make the 8.24 train. A man and his dog stare at the clatter of heels on icy pavements, but I run on regardless, across the road, past the churchyard and into the path of a man in an anorak with the hood pulled tightly up. ‘Be careful down there,’ he says, indicating the pavement ahead, ‘It’s really slippery.’ I thank him sincerely, smile my cutest smile and trip away – carefully.