On a cold winter’s morning in January, ice crystals rose from exhaust pipes and hovered in the air at intersections. With each blink, my eyes shed two more icicle tears. Behind my neck tube, I inhaled in bone-chilling air and exhaled the warmth from layer up layer of clothes. Thankfully the wind was blocked by the moist air that hung over the downtown core like a lazy cat, sleeping on top of a fence.

Snow crunched under my feet. My toes were cold because I hadn’t chosen the warmest boots. But at least they covered part of my calves. How do you dress for -33 in the morning and -5 in the afternoon?

The grit on the sidewalk allowed me to walk briskly to the transitway. I picked up the pace for the last 50 metres and timed my arrival perfectly with the 105. Today wasn’t the day to stand with the lemmings at Lebreton Station.

Across the river, Place du Portage was hidden in the cold, foggy morning. Pedestrians darted across red lights, trying to keep warm. A construction worker rubbed frost from a frozen moustache and beard.

How cold was it this weekend? Canada is a vast open land, where personal space is prized. But yesterday in Westboro, bus passengers huddled together in the bus shelter, with their groceries waiting outside. No need to worry about the icecream melting yesterday.

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