The promise of spring in the air, is what they always say. This season; it’s unrelenting, the brash cold. Wind spearing through the empty streets of the Richmond as if to tear at us, rake us through more disease news. The days feel wider with loss. Somewhat funereal. If I open a window, icy tendrils slowly unfold. But that tree bursting with cherry blossom riots just out the back window and it makes me want more than I can have, more than any of us can have. So I walk and walk the days away. What else to do? I was walking down one of those empty streets in the outer Richmond, Little Russia we call it sometimes, and a man in his 40s or 50s was there in his window, no shirt on, glancing out at the street, then glancing back into his own apartment. As if this was a warm summer day. He was on his phone, just perched in the window like this was NYC in August. I don’t why, but it made me hopeful for a brief moment.