This Is Winter

Snow is peppered on the grass outside my work as I begin my journey home tonight, but it's sleet that's currently falling and collecting in the depressions normally reserved for rain. It's deceptive, this cumulative sleet - there's no discernible visible difference between a mere surface coating and two inches of depth, so I get my right foot quite wet as I make my way to the bus stop.

Mercifully, today we have here, for the first time, a real bus shelter. From May to September, we had nothing. Then they put up a shelter with just two walls on the narrow east and west sides of the shelter, which made me wonder how effective it would be against the cruel north wind when winter hit.

But that one is gone today, replaced by a bus shelter than any bum would be happy to call home. There are already three other people inside it when I get there, and a fifth arrives shortly after me so it gets rather cramped. We're in good spirits though, as Old Man Winter has finally shown up and we find that, as always, we're up to the challenge. We joke about Toronto needing to call in the military when they got snowed on in 1999 (that never gets old!).

The bus is there on time and we eagerly pile on and find seats. As I gaze through the fogged up window beside me, I think about how much we Canadians hate winter, and love to. It's our toughness, our mettle tested, our boast to the world. Only Russia shares this badge of honour with us, but they always seem so sad. We laugh, frolic in the snow, and think up sports around it.

This is winter. This is Canada.

There's my stop.