One of my greatest pleasures is walking alone at night in a whippy drifty Toronto snowstorm. I wrote about the magic of it recently, the whiteness of the snow, the blueness above, and the deep muffled peace. A late-night walk in the fresh fallen snow is magical.
Well. Times have changed. The snow is dirty now, dogs have turned it yellow, and litter has made it spiky and shameful. Oh, pick up your pop can and whatever your dog did at your feet during your little man+dog tableau.
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