Snow

Yesterday on my walk to the Westmount YMCA I saw the tell-tale signs alerting pedestrians and particularly motorists of the city's plan to start removing snow from the streets. After the 40-odd centimetres we received on Friday - necessitating a day off school for Kassie - I considered it a clear indication that the storm and its aftermath had passed. No longer would we need to drag a giggling child over banks of snow, trudge along sidewalks caked with snow, or disembark from a bus straight into a snowbank.

The weekend had reminded me of my own childhood winters and the delight of tobaggoning down mountains of snow, building forts in the backyard, and making angels and snowmen. Today, however, it was with a sick feeling in my stomach that I made the same journey to the Y. Last night a young woman perished, and the 10-year-old brother she rescued seriously injured, when their paths crossed those of a snow removal vehicle. This morning cameramen were out shooting pictures, reporters standing near the entrance to the Y with microphones at the ready, and I prayed no one in my exercise class would speak of last night's tragedy.