Winter has made it’s home in the streets and alleys. It dust the trees with dander, steals the green. Lies down, a stone falling in to a void. A question mark, the man on the park bench. There’s a sadness in the elegance of snow banks… and silence. A bent man leans against the cold stone , the scent of chimney smoke mocks his blood shot eyes. He is waiting for someone to share his hours, so far his only companion is loneliness, it’s named etched in his hapless smile.