This blustery blasé morning I found myself over the snow. Walking over it, yes. But also over it - out of love and even like. It started with the icy trail I trekked down, perilously sliding at times. I concentrated on taking short, slow steps and imagined the dark green my skirt would become if it got soaked in a slippery spill.

After making it to the wider expanse of scraped and salted sidewalk, I watched a kid in front of me attempt to kick the huge glaciers that had taken residence on the periphery. Fresh powder, these weren't. The kid winced loudly when the "snow" refused to give way. Hello, it was ice in sheep's clothing! The fluff flew, the ice stayed. Nonetheless, the boy kept kicking the glaciers. A good excuse for some new Jordans, maybe?

I made it to the subway station right before my entire face scabbed off in the wind. I kept pushing down my hat, shoving my hands in my pockets, and zipping my coat higher. Still cold. The AM New York guys were huddled together for warmth, so I decided to get my own paper from the stand. Upon acquisition, it came to life, flying out of my arms and into the air, skidding to a stop way across the street. I shrieked and grabbed another paper, burrowed into the station, and didn't even mind being cramped next to mouth breathing strangers all the way to Wall Street. It was that much cozier.