I step with greater pleasure,
my body less cocoonish, less curled
against the cold, fresh air
that now wafts with a faint hint
of the organic scent of Spring thaw.

I step with greater abandon
down the middle of the street,
along great glacial valleys carved by
the wheels of motorized vehicles
that all Winter have struggled, slipped
and protested.

Suddenly, my right foot lands in a slush puddle.
Not once, but twice!
Cold foot, wet foot, up to the laces.

But I am not angry.