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Ellen McNeal
Poet
The performance was over and most of us were warming our cars, on our way home from the Civic Center. Snow blew fiercely down the street.

A lone musician, bent against the wintry blast, carried her violin close to her side. Perhaps her car was parked in a lot on Warren Street or Fayette. I hoped her walk would be short, that she had a snow brush, that her car was nearby.

As we drove north along Onondaga Lake Parkway, the snow became more intense. She surely was home, and we were not far from ours, all of us braving a winter storm for music, a night at the symphony.

Lone violinist
strains against a wintry blast.
Snowy walk. Encore.

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