This morning felt like winter. It felt like winter when I had to scrape a quarter of inch of ice off my windshield at 5:45 a.m. with only one glove, the other one having evaporated somewhere between the ice rink and my house. It felt like winter when, as I looked up to see the steam solidifying in the air above the skyscrapers, the window fogged into ice next to my cheek. It felt like winter when I was pressed to the bus window thanks to a woman in a too-enormous coat. I flattened myself against the wall, a defense against the perplexing sharpness of her elbows, and watched the art students, with a good 18 inches of naked leg between their boots and knee socks and the cut-off bottoms of their cut-off denim skirts and shivered on their behalf. I watched as two girls in matching pink jackets swung their white-tighted legs over the edge of the bus stop bench as they compared steaming breaths, like two small and not-so-aggressive dragons. It felt like winter to them too.

As the car windows began to clear, I went back in the house and found my shearling mittens, my only remaining matching pair of anything to cover my hands. I am fairly certain that because I am putting this fact in print, one of the mittens will disappear before I get home this afternoon, left, perhaps, on the seat of a train or dropped carelessly on a street corner. This is not a good time of year for mittens.

We emerged from the bus, steaming, stamping and coughing (was that the bus or was it us?), and bumped our coat-padded bodies into each other in the blinding sun. I noticed, for the first time this morning that one of the gargoyles outside of my window depicts a wolf trying to eat a lamb and the other one is a bull, his head bent down as if charging an invisible foe. Perhaps the foe is around the corner where I cannot see it.

My students were late and I benevolently held the test for them. The elevator in our building is fickle at best, I thought. All but one showed up and most seem to have done well on the quiz, at least at first glance. Including, to my annoyance, at least one of the frequent absentees. I was right, though: those that missed last Thursday�s class did not do well on question 2. Hear this, students: It pays to come to class. Don�t assume we won�t notice. Sometimes we write our test questions just for you.

The one missing is a puzzle. She has not been doing well, but it�s too late to drop the class without penalty. I�m not sure whether she�s given up or she just doesn�t care. Time will tell. I give them more chances than I should, my students. The point is that they learn what I think they need to know, not that the rules are strictly enforced. The point is that everyone makes mistakes and should have the opportunity of redemption.

Back in my office, the wolf is still trying to bite the lamb and the lamb is still trying to get away. They�ve been engaged in this combat for 100 years or more while a few feet away the branches of an enormous oak tree all but obscure them from view from the ground. And I�ve got papers to grade.

9 people said it like they meant it