There's something fragile about February. Dried-up vine leaves that cling delicately onto branches, icicles that hang precariously from bare trees, crisp pristine snow that flatten into the shape of our steps, and pervading it all, a snappish grey weather that threatens to shatter our cheerfulness.
I took a walk along one of the ravines that run stealthily under the boisterous belly of Toronto. A deep cleansing breath of cold air while observing the elegant lines of the nature trail, and slowly brittle emotions firm up with resolve. One of the reasons I love this city is its balance of contrasts. Hard concrete masses rise above soft organic forests. Coldness and warmth side by side.
