Just right, this city that feels like a town, not too big, not too small, just right. She will tell it to the babies as she holds them in her arms. She will not tell them the scary ones, the ones more true to life and the trees are white lashes against the winter air. In the downtown, there was a parade. The streets are littered with streamers.
Children climb on the empty bleachers, their scarves dangling from their necks.
A blind man walks with a woman in pink, who guides him around a downed tree, over a step to the pedestrian walk, and it occurs to her now that it is the woman who is blind, not the man. The blind leading the blind. She reads the address as she rolls through a stop and calls to a boy if he knows the way. The boy points vaguely. She parks, but his directions don't work, and her husband is calling, but not to her.