There’s something to be said about the cold and Canada. I confess I spent most of my first year abroad spinning yarns about growing up in a frigid wasteland of a country, riding my dogsled to Polar Bear High, and the time I set fire to my igloo – but it was funnier when my stories about the permanent black cloud that spanned my glacier of a country weren’t teetering on the brink of reality.
I’m not sure what August showers are meant to bring, other than spoiled picnics and an intense jealousy of Sally and Conrad and the cat that made the day. It’s been almost two weeks of cloudy skies and I’d take the party-pooping fish over another afternoon sitting by the window begging for the rain to go away. Snippets of sunshine, and sweaty afternoon heat-waves do not a summer make.
Dear sun, please don’t be shy anymore. Regards, Ottawa.
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