Snow fell in soft, steady sheets over the neighborhood. Christmas lights blurred through the storm, red and gold and blue against the white. Through windows, I saw families at tables. Children running through living rooms. Someone carrying a tray of cookies. A man helping a woman hang one last ornament.
Every glimpse felt like pressing a bruise.
I walked until my neighborhood ended and the streets grew quieter.
Then I reached Bellweather Park.
In summer, it was full of joggers and picnic blankets. That night, it was nearly empty, the benches crusted with snow, the trees standing black and thin beneath the frozen sky.
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