He sees his breath, says his breath

I reached (for) McNiven.  I found frost and a streetscape of leaves and parked cars, including my own, which I had parked first in front of the piano teacher's house, then further along, on the north side, in the sun.  None of that needed finding, nor did the geese, the university students walking through, the blue sky pale.  But I looked anyway, past the care home where McNiven school used to be; past the empty field to the northeast end of it, looking for signs of goalposts; past the fronts of houses to the rears.

The hydrant at Darke and McNiven
says 1958.