Feel free to laugh at me or deride this anecdote, but I had a genuinely magnificent, romantic experience in Toronto during that big, early snowstorm.
The night of the storm, I had skateboarded across town to go to a house party. Of course, at that time, it was completely clean and calm. By the time I left, however, there was a thick layer of snow on everything- and the snow was falling so fast and thick that you couldn’t see 6 feet in front of you.
If you looked up or stopped squinting, the snow stung your eyes. Everyone was looking down, everyone was in a rush to get out of the storm- everyone was blind. The city was, in one sense, in chaos- those who couldn’t or wouldn’t allow the weather to change their plans were making a fine mess of things. In another sense, however, the city was exceptionally peaceful. Most people just let the snow have the night. For my part, I quickly accepted that trying to skate home was impossible.

It was still a long way home though, so the snow and I shared the night. I got a can from out of my bag and stared walking. I almost immediately realised that my travelling partner, the storm, was protecting me.
It was great. Beautiful even. The peace, the white noise of the wind blanketing the other noises of the city- even the hiss of the can. The sense of the world upturned, the sense of the other-worldly. The cars frozen and immobilized – buried.
The snow quickly covered me too, but I wasn’t as helpless as those big clumsy machines. I was a part of the storm, a stalwart snowman, drifting though the city, piling up in the alleys, catching tags on walls.
Here’s one of them.

Merry Xmas!