There are a few treetops just
outside the window I wake to each morning. Last night it snowed again, so this morning the tops of the tangled branches are covered in a clean white snow. When the sun came up, the snow captured some of the sky's colors, cycling through
yellows and oranges. I thought I would record what happened in words so I will remeber it.
Everyone in Toronto hates the snow. People complain about it a lot. It has snowed often this winter and people see the snow as a hassel, something to be shoveled or clumsily navigated. After Taiwan, all this white seems wonderful. I walk around in awe at the amount of white. The same way that Yangmingshan is dark green, Toronto is white. The sky is white, the trees and roofs are white, the parked cars are white, the grass and streets are white, the wind blows air mixed with flecks of white into your face, and if the sun burns through the clouds, it is hot white and its rays reflect off all the city's white surfaces and blind pedestrians and drivers into a squint. It's all very spectacular.
I feel very lucky to be in Toronto right now. Especially since I know I will not be staying long enough to suffer a whole season of it. I do think about waiting for spring and summer though. It would be a shame to miss the start of the camping. To not do a little canoeing and swimming in those big clean lakes up north. To not lie on a rock at night and look up at the great mess of flickering white stars popping out of the blackness, excited when something moves.