Reflections: A Walk I remember

Flakes dance in the air
carried away by my gusting breaths
I send them to oblivion
as I tromp down my front steps

The walks plowed clear
by men before me
how early had they risen
simply to ensure that I could secure
more than my fair share of provisions?

What were their hands like?
Did they have scars?
Did their wives ever knit them ugly mittens
that they chose to don with pride and care
simply because they are smitten?

I chide myself as I wait for a stopped car
watching a passenger get in
Why do I assume that it must be a woman
who knits a man the mittens?

I cross the street to the commissary
continuing this inner commentary

What might be even worse
why did I assume that clearing my way
must have been a man's job necessarily?

I'm torn with a quickness
by the icy slickness of the cobble path
and of course I go falling like a fool
right onto my ass

A girl rushes to me
and hands me my phone
it had slipped from my grasp
“Yeah, the ground is slippery.”
she said and kindly handed it back

I stood and begged her for forgiveness
as I had almost taken her with me
humbled by both reflection and experience
I thanked her and judged the drivers and the road
decidedly less swiftly