Winter in New York City

Feet flying

Head bowed

Hands pocketed

Huddled deep in piles of clothes

In a quiet, unconscious belief

That by ignoring the world outside your head

That world of sounds and smells

Lights and colors

Never ending rush of movement

A world of millions of individuals

You will make it past the piercing cold,

Frosty and sharp,

Which numbs your skin

And strips you of all consciousness

Of the chaotic world around you 

Leaving nothing but flying feet

The feel of a scarf against your face

A pink nose, numb with cold,

And your thoughts to dwell on