Walk Through St.Boniface

By the end of the walk my legs tingled and burned with the cold. Backwards to the city worker men in their white hard hats and white cherry picker, mundanely cutting away the dormant elm trees. Their orange cones signaling a risk, which could come in the form of an outspoken branch.And then through the mist to visit Parc La Verendrye and stare through the trees full of hoar frost and think about the place where I was born. That burning orange cross that sizzles through the chilly air and makes me think that perhaps the frost has broken now, to leave dripping wet branches and sloppy slush.Then up Rue Tache to see Gaboury's palace, the temple of sweet smelling nips and winnies. Walking back through the knee deep snow in my $2 brown bell bottom pants, and considering how the hoar frost and limestone are so beautifully colored. How the pathways of snow and its pillars echo each other in line, their perpendicularity creating a visual harmony.And finally passing my neighbor Shawna, whose husband pushes that stroller through the snow like a ten speed attempting to stay upright on the beach, with Eva, their new delight, in tow.