Ok, something’s really wrong here. It’s February 1, and I went out in a flimsy dress and a light sweater and was plenty warm. I had a good day of self-care, car-care, and lounging before it was time to take the bike to the coffee shoppe to get back to work. I wrote some words, read some stuff for class, and organized students into small groups, not of their choosing, and then it was time to get back on the bike and head back up the hill to home. And I was still plenty warm. I pedaled home, eyes darting between the road and the cars coming up behind me, and I passed so many lost items–a mitten, a shoe, a latex glove (I’m guessing nobody wants that back), pennies, and then this scarf, right in the middle of the street on 27th. How did its owner not notice it was gone? Is it so warm we can’t tell when our clothes are falling off of us? And then I thought about the lost and found clothes in my life. I hope whomever picked up my lacy off-white scarf, the one I got at the H&M in New York with PK that Thanksgiving, from the Sondheim 103 is enjoying it now. And to the guy who left track jacket in my classroom at Tulane a couple of years ago? Yep, still wearing it. Oh, and to the summer school student who left the light black cardigan sweater in my classroom for two weeks before I gave in and took it home: you might mind the fraying around the collar, but I don’t. Nobody can even see it. Can they? Pink’s not my color and it’s practically spring around here, so I left the scarf for someone else. I bet it finds a home somewhere.