yesterday evening i smoked a cigarette for the second time in nearly two weeks. my fingers are not yellowed anymore. i'm sure they will be soon. i stepped out on the backporch where rain had cautiously been collecting all day long. it wasn't frozen, it is only October afterall, but it was close to it. (once the temperature gets to a certain low degree things might as well be frozen, i will die just as much at 40 F.) i lit my smoke and smelt the air. it was devoid of scent. it was winter air. i had a premonition of snow. not nice heartland snow or quiet adirondak snow but dirty snow, snow that is old within a day. it wasn't depressing. i wasn't upset. i accepted the automotive trails in the crisp white with solemnity. i thought of manhattan. and walking on a silent downtown street through sneaking snow; of coming up out of the 34th St A station and seeing the empire state building at the top of the stairs, surrounded by a flock of snowflakes. i thought of brooklyn and waking up to heaps of snow, henry st was like courier and ives and i thought i was in old brooklyn, walt whitman may have been on the banks of the east river at that moment. and i thought of amsterdam and prins hendirkade and wandering, stoned, in late december as the first european snow of my life fell. after all this thinking i felt warm. eventhough i knew that all those other snows that i spent alone were not wasted i knew last night that i wouldn't be cold in the next snow and all snows that will follow.