I had just left the forest behind when the [-] finally found me, next to the frozen lake and exposed under the gleaming grey sky. It came like lightning snaking through the ground, branching of and doubling back and still making its way forward, like a burrowing thing that reaching out towards light, flailing around for me, a swarm of blind ants feeling through the dirt. For a brief moment the snowflakes lined up, patterns springing out at me through the still air, and I knew I was lost.
A cruel clarity hit, for a split second, and every falling flake across the lake fell into view at once, so that the distant trees across the lake were no longer obscured by a blanket or mist. The snow was catching some distant light, and each flake appeared to me now as an intricate crystal of ice, twirling around its neighbours, spinning as it fell, burning into my eyes in their enormity.
Falling to my knees, I looked up, and to my eyes the mass of clouds and falling snow fell apart into their trillions of moving parts, and I saw right through them to the stars. Thousands of eyes looking down, judging, and beyond them untold thousands more, and wherever my awareness shifted I saw incalculable distant suns emerge, mere pinpricks through the falling snow and the clouds and the cold air, but each possessing a fire unknowable. Their light refracted through the falling snow, an incredible mass of mirrors, directing them towards me.
I saw them all.
And then the world bent upwards, convex, curling away from me until the lake and I were at the bottom of a bowl, with the sky a faint circle far away, blazing with the brilliant light of innumerable suns compressed into one, and I burned away into nothing, scattered into the air like snowflakes across the ice.
We’re getting close to the real winter now, and a bit earlier than usual. For me, this is the part of winter where the outdoors starts to get a bit fuzzy. Throwing a scarf or a mask over my face instantly fogs my glasses beyond the point of use, so once I step outdoors they’re tucked into my jacket pocket and everything loses its edges. Even with glasses, powder snow accumulates on the edge of the sidewalks, icicles reach down from the rooftops towards the ground, and snow starts to pile up on tree branches, powerlines, staircase railings, and cars rooves alike. The whole world is drawn closer together, edges blended, the topology of the streets around my home thrown into disarray by piles of snow and ice.
And the lights! Ice crystals reflect like no other, and you’d think Montreal’s streetlamps were designed for evenings like this, glistening off every surface. The traffic light throws green down the whole street, off of the trees and frosted windows and your own breath, rising in a cloud while you wait at the crossing. And it’s a wonderful soundscape; the crunch underfoot, the crack of icicles, the rumble of traffic churning through compacted snow, the muted background noise of the city cancelled out by a thick blanket covering the streets.
We’re not at that part of winter yet. The sidewalks are bleached with salt and a dusting of snow covers the base of every tree, but the best is yet to come. Today we have just the cold, where the wind pricks my thighs with hundreds of needles and the colour is sucked from my skin by freezing winds. The world is dark, and every minute spent outside needs to be fought for. Still, this is one of my favourite times of the year.
There’s something to be said about how walking in the front door of your home on a bitterly cold day makes me want to leap into the arms of joy as quick as I can, how the first thoughts through my head are a hot mug of tea, a warm embrace, a cocoon of the softest, thickets blankets available, or burying my face in the side of my unsuspecting cat.
Do you know the feeling of a warm kiss when you’re just in the entryway after walking back from the metro, bringing colour back to your face? Or coming into a friends’ living room when the gathering’s a few hours old and the air itself feels so inviting? Or stumbling in the door to a full bowl of soup, thick broth and tender, whose heat spreads out from your core to the tip of every limb?
The days will start getting longer, but the cold is here to stay, for now. Tighten your scarf and hold your loved ones close. Winter is a delight.
These evenings come so rare to me now, when my parents or roommates have gone to bed and the world outside has quieted down. Beyond all deadlines, responsibilities, any urgent needs or wants. This is the time when I dream, make plans, reflect, anticipate. Every train of thought can be followed to terminus. Today melts into yesterday and tomorrow. My writing routine grew from the habit of elaborating and enunciating my thoughts late at night, a ritual of self-organization. And even if just a fraction is left when I wake, these hours will shape the days and months to come.