Saturday's Walk

Walking to Central Park, the sky the color of machined steel. Fluffy snowflakes float, then stop. The park is like a print by Currier and Ives-- the diffuse light makes the snow on the trees look like cake frosting. As I pass the playground and the ball fields I see teens, with great laughs, throwing snow. The carousel is running and tots go up and down and around in bliss. An old bachelor, I wonder if I've missed anything. I have but I walk on without regret. I am what I am.