I stood with my hand cupped on the head of a parking meter, in a sprinkle of rain, as if I wanted to turn it a little to show it what I was seeing, a woman across the street on the wet sidewalk, leaning into a very brisk walk, wearing a transparent raincoat, the stiff folds from the bag that it came in still evident, like clear panes in French doors through which she was pushing, her knees and her ankle-high rubber boots out ahead of the rest, the coat keeping the top part of her dry though the thin, flying coat-tail was too far behind to catch up with her legs, which were pale from the chill. But what I most wanted to point out was her dress through the panes of that clingy, Saran Wrap- like plastic, a light summer frock patterned with flowers, red, yellow, violet and green, tossing about in the wind of her walk, caught up in that magical prism with her.