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if they still would run. Last evening the sound of two cycle engines rang through the town like the call of some primeval sourcerer back to haunt another season. This morning the damp air hangs over us like the sky has a bit of a virus and this is its cough. The wind is still and you can barely see to the end of a block. But just as the mystery of green grass and sparkling aspen leaves tantillise us in the spring so does the crystalline fascination of frost. This picture is untouched, just the way the camera captured the dull gray of the morning fog with bits of frost caught on antenna and spruce needle alike. There is a kind of confidence that is sparked in every Canadian when winter comes, the realisation that life has changed and new challenges await and that for absolutely certain, somehow we will make it through the still and the cold, the raging knife edged winds and curtains of crusted snow. We will watch for the tests of our courage and dare winter to throw at us its worst from which we will create our own legends to tell of our victory and how "in the winter of 99, oh that was a winter, the snow go sooo deep....." The confidence and kindness of the typical Canadian is rooted in the mystique of winter. |
The lilac tree above is now a place for snow and ice crystals to dwell until the sun erases their existence only for them to return again and again. Below you can not see the elementary school that is just a little more then a block away. |