Another frozen sun ascends through the dense air. It casts long reflections of blocked out buildings onto the catatonic river beneath me. No sharp wind disturbs me on this winter morning. Snow laces the river banks as well as my railing, like confectioners' sugar on dark chocolate cake. Mornings like these make me see the beauty of life—of the nature only I witness. I would sigh if I could.
Yet amid this natural beauty, I see no one. Such a pristine landscape should not be marred with people. Only I stand strong, straddling this river bed, providing passage to anyone who wishes it. I am functional, I am sturdy, I am repaired when needed. My black metallic railing rusts at the seams. My cobblestone back erodes with each passing season. My infrastructure predates the roads I connect. But I am useful when people come across me.
I have seen many people come and go, but none on this morning. Perhaps the biting cold keeps them inside. Perhaps the morbid branches of withering trees which obscure the landscape with veils of scattered black deter them; I do not blame the warm blooded for their reluctance. I would stay inside too, if I could.
Nothing awaits them out here anyway, only the outer walls of old, crumbling buildings painted in browns and grays, and a river—though possessing the grandeur of a stream—with calm, yet polluted waters, that meanders through the city. People do not have to stand atop me to see it. Any spot will do. The reflected elegance is not exclusive to my back. Yet no one takes advantage of this opportunity. No one bothers to see the view.
And though the chill dives into the very core of my being and I may lament over my loneliness, I love this winter solitude. In utter selfishness, so no one else can, this moment and this pastel scenery I will steal.
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