One of the MonStreal mailing lists that greeted me this morning boasted the subject "BIG FAT SNOWFLAKES" and another warned everyone to get their snow tires put on and FAST...
And my heart sank from the dizzying altitudes that a long-distance wake-up call from serendipity had hurled it, soaring, to.
Watching Peter complain about the WHITE DUNG FALLING FROM THE SKY the sudden pangs of homesickness hit harder than they ever have.
Harder than in the midst of a shivering night, reaching for les images ephem�res of David, engorged, reflecting off the walls.
Harder than when I realized that nobody here will value my insides until my outsides have stopped offending them.
Maybe the accumulation of everything I never knew I'd always wanted suddenly manifesting on that side of the ocean made the memories of the snow-filled tree-lined avenues all the more breathtaking.
Maybe the last dregs of Steven's hugs, maybe the realization that cobblestones are just things maybe... maybe the realization that I have to stop running one day and make do without fresh starts every four years...
Maybe none of those confused reationalizations play into it.
Maybe I'm just a winter girl who can't feel beautiful without snowflakes on my eyelashes and a false halo in my hair. Maybe I need the familiar armour of graceful brushed, black, wool. Maybe.
Whichever way I slice today, my eyes are tearing to be staring out my window as the sun rises on Montreal at this very moment, and watching the crystals glint on the maple trees.
And the snow didn't even stick this time.
I can only imagine the cacophonies that will ricochet through my management-addled brain when the Canadian landscape is it's characteristic blanketed white, and the sky is the low, wide light-pollution purple I only noticed it to be last week.
Homesickness. What an unfamiliar, but lovely feeling...