It seemed that winter,
with its wind, rain, and burning cold,
wanted to drive us inside.
But
There is you capturing
the early sunset,
the softest awe in your voice
There is the comforting smoke
from your cigarette
as our previous absences are filled
There is breathless laughter
as the old stones of this city
hear your wild stories
There is the brush of our hands,
swapping food and drink
under street lights.
Thus, I have found,
shivering beneath our everchanging roof,
that winter reminds me to love you
because next to all these yous
is me, glancing
at the running clouds
or the shy sun
or the twinkling satellites,
savouring the taste
of the bitter air.
I wrote a poem, Winter, in February 2022 reflecting on my first winter in Toronto. In it, I spoke about strangers whose kindness and care in the cold surprised — and moved — me. Today, I was considering the desire to still be outside, regardless of how cold it is, and I found myself thinking of the people in this city with whom any time is a good time. And winter makes that clearer. Above is a little poem about that experience, and below are snapshots of those experiences from this fall-winter.
