Montreal Winter

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Marialyce Sherr

An old man, bundled against the snowy February blasts, peers into a familiar store window on Rue St. Paul in Old Montreal, Quebec. The contents of the window are unchanged from the time he passed it a month ago, yet he knows that he himself has aged considerably over those harsh weeks.

He wonders if this is a winter that will have no end. He thinks that even if it does end, he will be unwilling to welcome another boisterous spring. He has seen too many tender buds bloom, turn brown, and die.

The sounds of crunching footsteps on the cobbles pass him. Echoes of young voices like disjointed memories bounce off the greystone buildings and the echoes fade across the frozen river.

The old man clings to this winter evening the way a mother holds a dying child. Perhaps things will turn around. Perhaps spring will be a glory.