She looked for keys in the pocket of her woolen coat but only pulled out lint and scraps of tissue. She wedged the toe of her shoe into the iron gate, swayed to check her balance, and drew up her left foot. The gate rocked and she scampered over it and dropped to the ground. Her wool coat fluttered like a blossomy parachute and clung to her cable knit stockings. Static popped. Her red hair sparked in the winter sun, and her face was lit. A wide brimmed straw hat floated above her curls, wrapped up with two wide yellow ribbons that trailed down her back. Low stacks of snow were piled here and there, and short pine trees sat fat. It was late morning, and the sun shot down in wide rays.