Зима тревоги нашей

           Andthemorningsunlaysoftlyonthepavementasitshould,forinAprilthesunaroserightwheretheHighStreetranintothebay.Ethanwentbacktothetoiletforabroomtosweepthesidewalk.

           Aday,alivelongday,isnotonethingbutmany.Itchangesnotonlyingrowinglighttowardzenithanddeclineagain,butintextureandmood,intoneandmeaning,warpedbyathousandfactorsofseason,ofheatorcold,ofstillormultiwinds,torquedbyodors,tastes,andthefabricsoficeorgrass,ofbudorleaforblack-drawnnakedlimbs.Andasadaychangessodoitssubjects,bugsandbirds,cats,dogs,butterfliesandpeople.

           EthanAllenHawley’squiet,dim,andinwarddaywasdone.Themanwhosweptthemorningpavementwithmetronomicstrokeswasnotthemanwhocouldsermonizetocannedgoods,notaunimumunimorumman,notevenasilly-billyman.Hegatheredcigaretteendsandgumwrappers,budcasesfromthepollenizingtrees,andsimpleplaindustinthesweepofhisbroomandmovedthewindrowofderelicttowardthegutter,toawaitthetownmenwiththeirsilvertruck.

           Mr.BakertookhismeasureddecentwayfromhishouseonMapleStreettowardtheredbrickbasilicaofaFirstNationalBank.Andifhisstepswerenotofequallength,whowastoknowthatoutofancienthabitheavoidedbreakinghismother’sback?

           "Goodmorning,Mr.Baker,"Ethansaidandheldhisstroketosavethebanker’sneatsergepantsfromdust.

           "Morning,Ethan.Finemorning."

           "Fine,"saidEthan."Spring’sin,Mr.Baker.Groundhogwasrightagain."