He cracked the thin layer of ice over that shallow sidewalk puddle. Tapped it just so with his Italian loafers, a light dance step. Autumn has crunching leaves, winter has thin ice. It was like something from yesterday, it was simple. He looked around to make sure no one saw him.
Thin ice meant that spring was coming. Spring only has the thaw. The great grey slush, everything mixing into a brown. Summer has so many things, he thought. Sitting on his porch and having a drink after work. From lemonade to lager, but the heart of some things never change.
Was this a sad moment? Perhaps, he thought. It was hard for him to tell anymore.
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