Mon pays, ce n'est pas un pays, c'est hiver.
First big snowfall – I love that Montreal has all four seasons, and winter is archbones of trees with distant figures flinging silhouetted scarves around their shoulders. Snowflakes siss in the few remaining dry leaves. There are still cyclists, and snow on steeples. In the distance the snow swirls under the trees like snow that floats in a snowglobe, just like in the movies except it's not made of soap or Styrofoam. Three boys play with a broom at the end of my street, and crowd around my dog. How long his hair is! How good a coat he has for the winter! Heureusement!