My New York Memory

 A breath of wind sweeps the streets. She stands in her red, summer skirt with one sandalled foot resting on the sidewalk, the other against the wall. To her, I’m like the breeze she so elegantly perspires in: a passing event barely noticeable, a slight disturbance. But she is far more to me. She is and forever will be the girl in the little, red dress, the lightest thought in a nearing winter. A reminder of a carefree summer that came and went, she’s a memory newly made. She’s all that and more and she’ll never ever know it. Pity.

 (Image courtesy