Winter Memories Fall Down

This morning it snowed.

I can't remember the last workday morning it snowed.

For me, snow falls out of memory. Unlike rain or wind or sun or other weather, snow sprinkles down from the past, and it is the past that piles up on sidewalks and curbsides and front lawns, on bus benches and fence posts, on stop signs and traffic lights on a rare morning like today.

I had arranged to meet Nick Ford in the Crestwood Liquor store parking lot and we pedalled in to work together. On the icy ruts of Ravine Dr, Nick fell for the first time. I looked back to see him on his stomach astride his bicycle. He was laughing, On 100 Ave, he wiped out again. One second he had been all balance and grace, and then a slight fishtail started, and it then grew more pronounced, and then it was all limbs and bike frame mixed together and then, as he hit the ground, a thud and a puff of snow.

We laughed. I smelled the wet wool smell of my breath in my winter neck warmer.

Nick hits the stage this morning

After the second fall, Nick dusted himself off. The sight of snow on his frozen pants recalled the old days when, most winter mornings, we would arrive at school looking about the same. Invariably, we were snow-caked and iced over after the adventures of walking to school along windrows and up snow hills.

The pants of yesteryear

I think the cold preserves memories.



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