Wondering

She shuffles the streets, rubbing her gloved hands together. Downtown is quiet today with only the occasional slide of tires on the fresh snow. The temperature has plummeted to the negatives and the shelters are full. She must keep moving. Her last cigarette sits in her pocket but she is waiting to smoke it when the sun creeps out of sight. The nights are long and the warmth of the smoke in her lungs is to be spared.

The roads are a dangerous place to walk, but the fresh foot of snow has yet to be cleared from the sidewalks, not that it was cleared from the last time. And, the buses are all shut down. The streets are too full of snow. Snow that will get plowed up onto the sidewalks to sit for weeks before someone thinks to have a fraction of them cleaned.

If she can get to the warming station, she can chase away the shiver in her spine for a moment. Perhaps even warm her stomach with food. The camps have become bitter lately with the cold. Some of the men more violent. They smell of death and sound of clacking teeth. Someone she knew froze. So, she sleeps during the day and moves at night.

She's struggled to end this nightmare, but it continues. Her toes burn with frost bite, but she ignores it. People drive past and honk. A raven calls to her, angry and hungry, just like her. The winter is long.