Planning ahead for the impromptu (and rushed and short on time so I won't be seeing anyone, unfortunately) trip to Montreal for the interview at the Palais to Justice on Monday morning, I've been eyeing the -20 degree weather in Toronto with a mountain of salt and in comparison I'm loving the weather.
The cold is just right to make the air particularly clear, just cold enough to count as winter and not so cold that if you have any survival instinct at all, a hat, gloves, scarf, and adequate coat is more than enough to protect you.
The cold is not the -40 that endangers any exposed skin, and as I was explaining this to the girls at work I remembered --
this cold is also not the -60 of a pre-dawn ski hill where the air is so frozen that snow particles become suspended at eye level.
This morning on the drive in as I avoided slipping SUV after sliding SUV (all wheel drive and a heavier chassis DO NOT mean you don't have to take precautions driving, as Torontonians seem to have forgotten) I thought about those suspended frozen particles of my Saturday mornings three years ago.
They are still with me and still hang in my eyes as they will forever, despite my distance and lack of time for ski hills and ski teams and Montreal winter magic.
This morning I experience Toronto winter magic, and despite my workload and honeymoon stress and new car stress and vasectomy stress and wedding stress and drama stress and money stress and house-re-wiring stress
there is warmth in my heart.
This beautiful winter Thursday has put warmth in my heart.