Welcome Winter.

Winter arrived while I was in the living room knitting. The window rattle kept taking me out of the knit 5 purl 2 pattern. I pulled the curtain open and looked over my shoulder to see winter in full force, snow whipping across the street already accumulated to at least two centimeters. I let the curtain drop and went back to my partially knitted sock.

Never a fan of winter, I've now become resigned to the fact that I made a choice to leave the B.C. coast and live here in winter. My only consolation is that it's never as cold as Montreal where my memories are almost all bitter.

The cold air seeps through the knitted weave of my hat. Head down, hands in pockets, I run along the snowpacked sidewalk just because I can. At least I have running now so that when walking bores me I can go into a run and continue as long as I like. My hands slide free, my head is up, and my arms swing at an easy rhythm. Thank god for the sun.

On the streetcar, the heater is pumped and I've unfortunately positioned myself standing over it, overheating. One place after the other, the Knit Cafe, It's Not a Deli, the Organic Boutique. Two voices behind me.
One: "downward dog, I'm going to do some yoga".
Two: "it's a conceptual piece, three pieces in one. Aliens. Where are ya' goin'?"
One: "going to do some yoga? Downward dog."
Two: "Listen to this."

Self conscious of my yoga bag slung over my shoulder, I glance at the two figures. Their backs face me and now one is bobbing his head up and down. In a voice too loud he says, "It's prolific!" Is that taking a familiar word and giving it new meaning? I don't understand his reaction to the music that only he can hear, but he continues to say "prolific" and the daughter of the grammar teacher in me wants to say "that's not what prolific means."

Fresh and then the park. The park has been transformed by the brilliantly clean snow. Two structural domes rest on the ground fenced in for protection while the entranceway pillars are reconstructed. Two more stops.

One: "...it's the next stop."
Two: "Yoga, eh?"
One: "Yeah."

The streetcar slows and I'm anxious to get past these two because I know they'll slow down my pace to get to class on time. I manage past them in the foyer. It's messy and slippery, but I toss off my shoes and step into the wet in my socked feet.

Ahhh, breath.

Two namaskaras later I realize that One is behind me in class and has no idea what a downward dog is. Last week NOW magazine had a free class pass add for Downward Dog and I suspect he's clipped the coupon and come to an advanced class. By the time we get to suri namaskara B, the teaching assistant is helping him from the class. Hopefully he's been refunded and can return for a beginner class.

After yoga, the day has warmed up and I barely need my hat, but put it on anyway just because it's light and I like it. The useless gloves are stuffed into my pocket, freeing my hands to enjoy the sun light. I walk through the park and make my way home.