Cold - but not too cold

It wasn’t the coldest day ever, but it was close. I wore my usual winter wardrobe – two layers below and five above. And then I threw on my puffy down-filled coat, knit hat, scarf and mittens, and I stepped out into about fifteen degrees of cold. The arctic air was still headed for zero or below. As I walked, a north wind bit at my exposed nose and cheeks. I balled my thumb and fingers inside my mittens for extra protection. I walked more briskly than usual. By the time I reached the river, I was just holding my own, somewhere between not too cold and too cold. Tiny icicles were forming on my mustache from the exhalation of my breath.

Pigeons huddled together on the cable over the dam. Only a few gulls were circling over the open water flowing from the base of the Bowersock Hydroelectric Plant. I’d gone far enough for the day. I turned and headed for home. At least I would be walking with wind.

And then, after a few more blocks, I turned a corner. Half a block ahead of me, I saw what appeared to be a woman standing in the street. She was as well-bundled as I was. She wore a bright blue stocking cap with a pom-pom on top and it looked like she was focusing the lens of a camera on an empty bench over on the side of the street.

Then, out of the brown winter background, I saw a second woman wearing a long, quilted brown coat. And in the next moment, she had shed her coat, letting it fall down around her ankles. She stood there, wearing only a very pretty party dress. It was a dark red wine color, the full skirt with frilly lace beneath it flounced around her bare legs. The fabric of the skirt gathered at her narrow waist, and then the satiny cloth stopped quite short below a quite low neckline. The line was like the V-formation of geese flying south for the winter. Beginning at a point between her breasts, two lines of the edge of the wine-colored fabric extended sinuously  out and up to points well below her bare shoulders. From another perspective, the woman exposed much of her tender skin to the hard cold.

If like Joan of Arc, she had called out to me to follow her, I believe that I would have stripped off my puffy coat and my five layers and braved the elements with her. Instead, she stepped lightly over to the bench and sat down, her back straight, knees to one side, her hands in her lap holding the billowing skirt around her thighs. She showed not the slightest sign that she might be cold. Indeed, she faced the woman with the camera as if it were already spring. After a few clicks of the camera, the woman with the south-flying neckline stood up, slipped her coat back on, and then the two women walked over to a car parked in the lot across the street.

And so then I turned and walked up the slight incline of a street heading south. And then, to my further surprise, I heard honking. No, it wasn’t Joan of Arc. As I looked up, I saw a flock of geese flying towards me. They flew lower than usual, just above the bare branches of the tree tops. And the geese flew towards me in a V-line just like the neckline of the woman in the wine-colored dress. The angle of the V, the slight curve of each leg of flying geese out to the sides. It was exactly the same. Fractal. And then the geese banked towards the river and were gone.

Of course, I took it all as a sign from the universe. Or maybe just a wink and a nod. With the universe, you just never know when or where you will see beauty.