Poem: First Snow Fall

I had heard of snow for so long...but had never seen it...Canada and snow for the longest time...had been inter-changeable
in my mind...My Guyana head-master's cotton-wool for snow on the Christmas tree...had not quenched my longing for snow...real snow...Whereas winter was the dragon in my equator head...snow was the fair lady...and I wanted to get to know her...It must have been December of that first year in Canada...when one morning half awake...I looked out of the back window...and my mouth fell open in wonder...The grey rutted back yard of the day before...had been replaced by a blanket of
sparkling white...and a million puffs of white were sifting lazily down...upon the earth...going to sleep under its cover...
I stood at the window transfixed...by the slow diagonal movement down...of these pale dots from the sky...Already the roof-
tops of the houses across the way...were cushioned with white...and it made me feel...this day should be a slow holiday...
while mothers and fathers sat by their fire-places with their children...telling stories...That innocence and wonder should
dance wide-eyed today...beyond the crackling fires and snow swept fields...That all that was harsh and crude and jangly...
should be banished today...and a gentling smile should light up the morning...and soften the lines on the worried faces of
the North People...I ran outside...feet thrust hurriedly into slippers...and panths and coat untidily over pyjamas...I turned my
face up to the sky...to meet the slanting snow...My face tingled and prickled with each cool contact...I stuck my cupped hands
out to gather in...some of the objects of my long wonderment...They tickled my hands...and turning to blueish grey...vanished before my eyes could figure them out...I stood there for a long time...my face tilted upwards...my hands out-
stretched...feeling an awakening...an elation...a hope at that moment that I had lost...during the cruel grey and black and
naked days of November...The pain of my rapidly numbing fingers and slippered toes...finally jerked me out of my reverie...
reminding me that this was no gentle holiday...and in a hurry I would have to find my way...through the slippery streets of
Scarborough..down.to the cold caverns of King and Bay....................