gail

Cold War

It is a raw, snowy Sunday morning and the city is not rushing to wake up. But some, like me, have ventured out. There is no path cleared yet, so I walk in the street. A delivery man on a bicycle is approaching. He navigates it with care and child-like delight. I smile and he, from under his Yankees cap smiles back and croons, “Good morning Senorita !” Without missing a beat, I reply, “Buenos dias Senor!” Cultures do not collide this day; they meld and help put a thaw in the city’s chill.