Winter Ballet

I needed to go to the bank.

My landlord, for some unknown and probably not a good reason, demands cash for rental payment. Carless, I headed out for the long walk to the bank. 

A cold breeze snapped at my face like a wet towel at the beach, bringing a blush of color to my cheeks. It's long fingers reached into my coat looking for any breach in it's protection. It was cold. It was darn cold.

I felt exhilarated.

The cold brought my tired soul to life. I sucked the crisp air deep into my lungs and walked along briskly.  Snow boots protected my feet and I trudged through the snow with feet warm and snug in pillow soft comfort.

Hatless, I enjoyed the freedom of my hair blowing in the wind. It fit my mood, giving me a sense of independence. Man, or in this case woman, against nature, on an equal basis.

Leaving the protected sidewalks which were buffered by homes and high rise buildings, I walked along the lake shore, watching ice thick waves slapping encrusted shores.  

Living at the western end of Lake Ontario where the lake narrows as it curves, the distant shores are usually visible across the water. Usually it was a dark horizon caught between two blues. But not today.

Today everything was grey in fifty shades and more. The words "lake effect snow" had meaning now as I watched a storm pirouette over the lake water. It's fringe was edged a white grey but it's center was a charcoal swirl. The storm twirled away from the distant shore heading due east, in complete unrestricted abandon.

As I walked I encountered others strolling in the sunshine and cold. I smiled at each and said hello... happy new year... good day! Some smiled and responded back while others seemed startled as they emerged from intense, internal worlds. Others gruffly mumbled a reply, looking down to avoid personal contact while they hurried on.

I reached the bank, entered, and with accounts settled, headed home. Outside the storm had moved closer to shore. It now skimmed the shoreline very close by. I could almost touch it's grey damask. The sun disappeared and snow streamed in ribbons of white. 


The wind tore at my coat and lashed my face. My skin stung with the sharpness of the cold and with tiny ice pellets. The freedom of a hatless head was now regretted.

As suddenly as it came, the storm reversed and twirled due south to center lake. Here the dark grey mass twirled as it blithely crossed international borders at will. Then, just as suddenly, it raced back.

I huddled deep within the hood of my coat and bent myself to face the wind, right arm raised to keep the hood from blowing off. Gone were the greetings to passersby, everyone too deep into the business of keeping warm to acknowledge others. 

The frigid lashings were endured, block after block. Everything was a blur of white. At last I reached the safe haven of home.

As I opened the door to my building, the sun appeared once more. The storm was gone. Hummingbird like it hovered only a moment here and there in it's perpetual dance. Sometimes it raged in a primitive dark harmony, sometimes it danced lightly over the water and sometimes it tickled the land in delicate delight. Never in one place long, forever on the move but always performing nature's winter ballet.