St. Viateur Valentine

In February, the light changes. The neglected geranium on top of my bookshelf notices, and buds.

 












The florist puts rose petals out in the snow. They freeze into bright eggshell-thin cups. Later I'll find soggy wads of them in my coat, as if I tried to pocket a snowball.

But for now, we scoop them up by the cold handful, valentine petals on the white sidewalk, something right out of Snow White.