Winter

Raindrops streak across the window, leaving a trail of watery fragileness. Menacing gray clouds, with big bushy eyebrows, growl at the earth. Gathering winds, demonstrating maybe, crowd the cracked squares and stoned streets. Temperatures are falling to a certain degree and temperaments are rising to a certain chill. Cheeks are beginning to rose; noses are beginning to run. Gloves are being handled; scarves are being necked. Bodies are being coated; hats are being headed. Ears are getting muffed; lips are getting chapped. Breath becoming visible in a foggy way; fog becoming invisible in a breathy way. Daylight now much shorter; shorts now much longer. Beaded sweat replaced by knitted sweater; ice coffees replaced by steamy espressos. The outdoor heaters join the outdoor diners for dinner. The security guards bounce from foot to foot. The passengers enter the bus with a gust of frigidness. Vents blowing artificial heat into rooms; heat, then, is being artificially vented. Less humanity outdoors: maybe because it is too fresh. Fewer people hanging out: maybe they are just trying to hang in. Hands rub together, trying to imitate flint stones; stones are stone cold. The trucks exhaust exuding exhausted excuses shaped like steam smelling of chemical. Shivering skins looking for a pocket; pocketed shivers looking for some skin. Feet cold on the bathroom floor; toes colder in open sandals. Fingers holding the cigarette are uncomfortably numb; as are some minds. Umbrellas are pulled inside out, they look like giant funnels; everybody is pulled together, trying to bring their limbs outside in – and I just stand there bundled in my fur coat, amused –

Yes, it is winter in Jerusalem, but it is also winter in my heart.