Scenes from Series
Angels spun on silken heels over my head; I can count each and every perfect toe from where I stand. Two have mouths wide open; arms filled with choir books, pink cherubic lips displaced. Another has flaxen curls, perched on their toes and tossing out a scrolled banner in the thin air.
I feel warmth when I press my face to a clean, frosty window; Tiny wooden soldiers take up a dance, festooned in their livery, varnish coating shining brightly in the track-lighted toystore window. A mohair teddy bear, fur gleaming at me, suggests a smaller time, quieter, more of a comfort. Dolls sit, their mouths painted shut, ill-fitting flaxen blond wigs ill at ease on the crowns of their heads, watching blankly a toy train circle their floppy forms.
Nextdoor an ancient sleigh sits, unused for centuries; toiletry kits on the seat benches, waiting to be traded by a newly formed couple, given to a young mother, an elderly woman.
Buttery Popcorn smells waft and mix with the scent of sausage and hot dogs and pretzels; cocoa steams in polystyrene cups, steam rising to heaven along with its heat.
Inside a bookstore, a space heater spends itself recklessly, trying to keep the tiny place warm. Musty odors permeate anyway; a dark patch on the ceiling tile from our latest rainstorm. Rows of ancient, leather-bound volumes sit, collecting dust, yearning for a loving owner.
I see my lover at the front of the shop; head bent over a volume of Poe, whom he knows I love. Leaving only the plaintive tingle of sleighbells behind me, I giggle my way to the red-bricked sidewalks, trying to forget....