All right, all right. Sun peekin’ through the trees. Profound – like daylight, klowrowfil, trees dig klowrowfil and all, y’know, haven’t you read the crap in school? Its like the trees are sayin’ ta each other, ‘Hey c’mon, the bar is open, let’s get a beer, dudes.’ Yeah, beer is like fotosinthsis ta me, thus the analogy.

I apologize for the nonsense above. Its just that the sun in the Canadian winter blows me away, its so rare. When its sunny and I am on vaykayshun, like I am this week (March break, semaine de relâche, remember?), its like nirvana ta me.

It is perfect weather ta get stoned in, but I left weed in engineering school, where it was du jour. Folks were stumbling around all over those days but that is all behind me now. I have left everything.

When we migrated to Canada, it was summer but I remember my first winter in Canada. I swiftly began missing all those halter tops and those tattoos that, if you twisted your head at 90° to the horizontal ta read, said, “Save me, I’m lost’ or ‘Do ya know anyone named dick?’

Then the winter came on. L’hiver, they call it here in Quebec, pronounced ‘livay’.

Livay overwhelmed us and at the same time, it fascinated us beyond words. I mean it – the sun, the blue, the snow and the starkly naked birches, oaks and the sugar maples – they conspire to overwhelm yore senses.

Canada, you are most definitely heaven on earth. You turn me on.

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