A Winter Morning

The winters in Calgary are a mixed bag. Some years the snow doesn’t appear till January. Other years it snows in September and then not till March. Once in a while it snows every week from October to June and the temperature stays well below freezing. This year, it snowed in early October when the trees were still loaded with leaves. Cold spell froze the leaves and the crab apples in our yard and for all I know they are destined to stay on the trees till spring when they will rejuvenate for an unexpected second life cycle.

This year the second cold spell arrived in the first week of December exactly as the weather channel had predicted. It really was cold, thirty below zero without counting the wind chill. At these temperatures it doesn’t matter whether it is centigrade or Fahrenheit, the exposed skin freezes in seconds either way. Forty winters of freezing and thawing in this blessed city have taught me a lesson; I now cancel all my meetings for the duration and give away tickets to the concerts and other entertainment without fretting about how much they cost. I raise the thermostat to its highest and stay in bed with two hot water bottles and a book of stories about Hawaii by Jack London.

It was nine on Saturday morning when I opened my eyes with great reluctance. “I love you. You look so sweet when you are asleep,” I said in my wife’s ear.
“Then why do you wake me up?” she answered without stirring.
“It is nine, and it is your turn to make the tea,” I said lamely.
She was furious as I would have been in her place, “I will go and get the tea and you can look at a sour wife when drinking it.” She tossed of the blanket, jumped out of bed landing on both feet as she always does, rushed to the window and raised the blind. The daylight pulled my eyelids apart. I am glad it did. An incredible view brought me to my senses before taking them away. I will describe it as well as I can. But if I do not succeed, please make some allowance for English being my second language and the poor quality of ESL lessons in the early days of immigration from the Third World.

It was a bright day but I could tell from the thick frost near the bottom of the picture window that it was awfully cold outside. The almost opaque frost had a smooth concave edge which uniformly graded into transparency. At some distance on the left, Green, blue, orange and red Christmas lights on the Mayday tree were shining through the frost, giving the view a dreamy appearance with their diffused glow. On the right almost touching the window, a blue jay flitted in the crab apple tree with dark brown leaves and over ripe crab apples size of a ping pong ball frozen on the branches. Icicles of various length and diameter hung from the eaves trough sparkling in the beams of sunlight. Little dots of ice on the pane scattered the rays in exploding rainbow colours. The row of evergreens along the fence, their branches stooping to breaking point with the weight of snow but their tops competing with each other to touch the sky, had a new majesty. Twittering squirrels, jumping from one branch to the other, were scattering snow dust which added to the otherworld feeling engendered by the scene. The velvety blue of sky, untouchable in grandeur as much as in reach, gave a unity to the picture which distinguishes the work of a genius from that of an accomplished artist.

My wife came in with the tray, saw me staring at the window totally absorbed and silently joined me under the blankets. We sat there quietly, leaning back against the pillows holding hands, at peace with each other and the world, enjoying the nature at its best. I do not know for how long, only that the tea was cold when I poured it.