snow · Toronto Winter 2007

Snow Globe

Yesterday was a day to relive. Yesterday, the snow was so fresh and white, so clean and quiet and beautiful that it felt like a treasure. I wanted to preserve it, somehow, so that the memory of snowflakes in eddies of wind from the lake swirling around, up instead of down, falling quietly on the patient noses of tethered dogs, silencing footsteps on the street lasted longer than a day. I watched a bundled up toddler, I don’t know if the child was a boy or a girl, because all I could see was an upturned face, eyes squeezed shut, mouth open wide to catch a snowflake, even if it was just one.

Today was an unremarkable day. Today, I walked outside, and it was cold and grey. The wind made nothing dance. It bit my face. I walked in ash-grey slush. I felt as though I walked on something that had been trampled to death. I dragged my feet through it like hundreds of others before me. I made sure I had carefully folded up the cuffs of my jeans so that they would not get dirty.

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