Rushing to work, she couldn’t help but notice the homelessness in the Métro station. Each day at mid-day the same persons are at their “stations”. Another flight down and she reaches the train rails and watches another person getting ready to get set up upstairs next to the convenience store, as she sees every day. The man feeds her discreetly, respectfully, then pushes her wheelchair upstairs for a few hours where she sits…alone, waiting.
The view of fresh fallen snow offers a promise of hope. She looks at the pure whiteness from her bedroom window and smiles. It was a welcoming mild day compared to the arctic weekend she’d just passed…the snow would be heavy yet sticky, just the right consistency to make snow forts, snowballs and snowmen. She saw children giggling and sliding in her mind’s eye.
Walking on the snow-covered sidewalks she noticed the grey skies threatening more snow but it was too mild…surely it may turn to rain or sleet. Mother Nature can get overwhelmed with the earth’s heating; she seemed dazed and confused.
Later shuffling through snow, its texture reminded her of cookie dough batter. You know when you add butter to that fluffy white flour and beat it until it all blends together. Her mind wandered to old childhood memories. Her GrandMaman would let her lick the bowl of batter…how she loved adding just a smidgen of sugar on the raw dough.
GrandMaman would spread the batter and let her granddaughter choose the cookie cutters of shapes of animals, stars or hearts depending on the occasion. Her favourites were the star and heart.
Walking along the street streets, she looked up at the grey skies
Tournesol dans un Jardin 