A woman with a broom

The crunch of dry gravel underfoot. As if you were walking over the dead beetles, their empty shells cracking under your soles. The gravel was scattered the other day on the icy road but there is no ice no more. The street is now bleached by sunlight. You’d want to take off your hat. And in front of the kindergarten — a woman with a broom sweeping away the stones’s corpses from the path.