Wrapped in silvery light

The city at the end of winter feels a little quieter somehow.
Your breath is still white in the air, and the fingertips peeking out from your coat sleeves turn red. Even so, somewhere deep in the cold air, the faint scent of spring has begun to mix in.

As you absentmindedly watch the city lights reflected in building windows and shop displays, someone suddenly comes to mind.
There's no real reason. Somehow, the turning of seasons always brings back fragments of old conversations and ordinary scenes from the past.

And still, the seasons keep moving forward.
Like a small trace of warmth slowly blending into the cold air.