Days before spring, the sight of snow melting around the sidewalks, and us, two dreamers attempting to see this city with new eyes. The maroon grass had surfaced and patches of soil left traces on our feet. That afternoon, we didn’t need boots, nor mittens. We held onto cheap cameras as our coats dangled from our bags, sweeping streets. The view of an art gallery, and a stairway never noticed before, the statue of Champlain, and the view of the river, but most importantly, clear blue skies.
The weather made promises of stories to be written, and of ideas to become objects – a guarantee of teenage dreams becoming tangible. The sweet scent of snow melting into the dirt replaced dark thoughts. ‘What a beautiful life,’ we exclaimed, feeding off each other’s sense of wonder. I, I would move abroad and visit places, so many places! And she is to open an art gallery of some sort. Patsy’s shack of art, we’d laugh.
Heavily caffeinated, we promenaded the streets in search of a beautiful picture.