Five Sentence Fiction: Shiver

I usually dread the fifteen minute walk from my parking spot to work at this time of year; what with the inevibility of a frozen face, cold, red nose, and the gradual spread of numbness throughout my hands and feet, a feeling so infiltrating that it often lasts well into the morning. Looking around today at the bright sunlight bouncing off windshields and as I take a deep breath of unseasonably warm air, I am almost nostalgic for snow piled high on either side of the road and glistening patches of ice along my route. Almost. Unzipping my spring jacket with my free hand, intent on the squishy sound my rubber boots make as they slide through ever-melting slush, I nearly step on a squirrel bounding giddily across the sidewalk right in front of me. February, in Winnipeg, Canada and I'm outside without winter clothing and there goes a squirrel, neither one of us feeling so much as a shiver.