Oh I do not love you on these 0C days, after a dump of snow that has actually stayed on the ground and roads. Your worst: the slush. Brown and grey, cold and gritty. Ugly as fuck. Flying from speeding cars and swerving cabs, landing on sidewalks in thick splats. Sometimes against unsuspecting pedestrians, already cursing the icy flakes that swirl from buildings in directionless bursts. That cold mucky brown goop that clings to boots, leaves murky puddles on the shop floor, tell-tale footprints up the aisle when you don’t care to be followed.
Today it was 16C outside, or so the weather app boasts (I think it was probably closer to 12C, but still, it’s early February and it’s not -30C like it should be).
I will miss you, Lake Ontario, for sending your warm vibes northward and heating up this city, for sending all the snow and cold to Buffalo (sorry, Buffalo). No snow is my kind of winter. I will miss you, Toronto, for your temperate Decembers, your snow that descends with purpose but dissipates quickly. I still haven’t bought new winter boots. Into February I’m still wearing shoes. And today, thanks to climate change (sorry, planet), no coat.
Dear Dundas, I won’t miss you. With your abandoned storefronts, scarred with unimaginative graffiti and decades-old grit. With your grimy little shops and litter-strewn steps and old signs that swing from half-hinged frames. With your cheap haircuts in dingy salons, your grotty bars that resist resuscitation. I want to warm to your dirty charm, but it disarms me.