April Is The Cruller Month
The winter has packed its bags, and I think my friend, Albert, said it was waiting for the 6:45 bus for some northern outpost. I wasn't surprised, because Jane came by just yesterday, and you could see the glint in her eyes had returned. I knew what she wanted.
All across the city, people have begun to wander from their sheltered houses. They are walking again, walking down the sidewalks, dirty from sand and salt, to neighbourhood convenience stores, where they pay outlandish prices for an ice-cream confection. They linger and smile when you come near. They have recovered.
Soon, the crocus blossoms will dot the tortured lawns, and even the oldest of women will leave their easy chairs by the television and go outside to turn the earthly garden beds over, redressing the mottled grey with thick black blankets.
Toulain has already greased his ten-speed bicycle and has been whizzing by the back gate, carelessly chancing disaster for flight down the alley. Shaggy and desperate dogs snarl and yap at him along the fences as he speeds past. No one minds the noise for now.
As for me, I am sitting here in my local Tim Horton's Coffee Shop, while tippy-tapping on my tablet, sipping a cuppa Joe, and munching on a honey cruller. After all, it's Just-spring, and the world is so dough-luscious!
The winter has packed its bags, and I think my friend, Albert, said it was waiting for the 6:45 bus for some northern outpost. I wasn't surprised, because Jane came by just yesterday, and you could see the glint in her eyes had returned. I knew what she wanted.
All across the city, people have begun to wander from their sheltered houses. They are walking again, walking down the sidewalks, dirty from sand and salt, to neighbourhood convenience stores, where they pay outlandish prices for an ice-cream confection. They linger and smile when you come near. They have recovered.
Soon, the crocus blossoms will dot the tortured lawns, and even the oldest of women will leave their easy chairs by the television and go outside to turn the earthly garden beds over, redressing the mottled grey with thick black blankets.
Toulain has already greased his ten-speed bicycle and has been whizzing by the back gate, carelessly chancing disaster for flight down the alley. Shaggy and desperate dogs snarl and yap at him along the fences as he speeds past. No one minds the noise for now.
As for me, I am sitting here in my local Tim Horton's Coffee Shop, while tippy-tapping on my tablet, sipping a cuppa Joe, and munching on a honey cruller. After all, it's Just-spring, and the world is so dough-luscious!
