It’s the 10th of March and we are within 17.8 centimetres of breaking a Toronto record for the most snowfall, set in the winter of ’38-39 @ 207.4 cm. You know prospects are bleak when people start betting whether we will overcome the record, as opposed to the typical Toronto attitude, which is “It’s March! It’s almost Spring! Why do I have to shovel?”.
The symptoms of winter hold on to us; they take us hostage without ransom notes, without reason. We wake up, wondering which of the three sweaters we have been rotating for the past four months we shall wear, staring contemptuously at our winter coats, at our cold salt-stained boots.
Spring, I reason, is a triumph of the mind over the body and the heart – both of which are savaged by winters like this. You have to believe that some Spring day, no matter how far off from now, the temperature will rise to 10 degrees and not drop. You have to believe that there will be a day where you can remove your coat while standing outside and not feel the stopwatch of our animal frailty ticking toward frostbite. Soon, the snow will permanently melt from the sidewalks like an ancient curse lifted.
We must believe.
At this point I’ve stopped holding my breath .. 😉
I think we are all very much weary of winter this year.