The entrance to our building is encased by two miniature copses of trees, five on the left and five on the right, towering ever so slightly above the great overhang that shadows the hour that we traipse into work.
And this morning, just tired enough and just sore enough to be only barely aware of the snow sliding out from under my sensible-sporty-shoes as I wandered up the purportedly forboding path
the most magical thing happened
as these two great big flakes of lazily tumbling snow went drifting past my left eye I looked up at the bare skeletons of the trees that frame the gate to purgatory and realized it was only snowing under the trees.
I looked out across the standard issue ultra-wide parking lot taking up space across the street and all the recently parked cars were typical winter dirty but mostly clear of snow, and the air was empty.
So I looked back, and stood there for a couple of seconds, staring up at these magical trees and the swirl of unbelievably fat, light flakes that settled themselves in my hair and fell straight back asleep.
For a second I was convinced that they were cherry blossoms, then perhaps cotton afloat in the spring gusts, and then I was stolen away so entirely by the moment that I was transported to some faery city where the grand entrances to great places were decorated with rose petals, hurled from the arms of dryads.
Wandering in, someone fingered my hair and asked if it had suddenly started snowing outside, and when I answered "only where I walk" he peered out the door and saw nothing at all.
And I waltzed into my second floor hallway and Sebastien was here to lend me a book about Omar Khayyam and we talked of how his poetry made you want to kiss obsidian steps in the raging noonday sun, and he showed me this which is possibly one of the cleverest things I have seen in a while. Don't be taken in by the early credits, of course, you'll know when you see the *real* end of the show.
And I just might join the boys to go play hockey today, e'en tho my butt muscles hoit.
And princess called me at work this morning, and I could picture her batting snow-laden eyelashes in the column of winter beneath the trees outside.
Addendum:
My ass hurts.
I stumbled onto the ice, rented hockey stick half-hazardly dangling from my right hand, and looked desperately at Marc-Andre and begged him to show me how to skate.
Half an hour later I was racing backwards along the ice, missing the puck, but missing it very often and with impressive grace, even. So I remember how to skate, now I just hafta learn this hand-eye co-ordination thing but Chris with the shining eyes explained a few things to me and I'm getting the hang of it.
I mean, what kinda Canajun would I be if I couldn't play Hockey?
And David bought skates today so he'll be joining us next week, and I bought my very own hockey stick and hockey tape (I still hafta figure out how to put the two together), and there's a picture of me teaching Rahim how to stand on one foot and use his edges and holding his hands so he wouldn't fall.
Y'know wot? I haven't had this much fun in ages. A week, at least. ;)